How to Cure the Common Cold
by rosdrise
Summary: Romantically troubled teenagers, bad. Romantically troubled teenagers with wands, worse. Romantically troubled teenagers with wands on opposing sides in a wizarding war,...well, you get the idea. HBP Spoilers. DHr.
1. A Quick Visit to the Infirmary

**Contains Major Spoilers for Half Blood Prince**

**_Chapter One: A Quick Visit to the Infirmary_**

Draco Malfoy was going to die.

Never again would he walk the corridors of Malfoy Manor. Never again would Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry be graced by his presence. Never again would a Mudblood be put properly in their place. It was all very sad.

"It's a cold, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey interrupted his statuesque reverie.

"I thought the symptoms rather resembled the early stages of Romanian Dragon Pox."

"Well, as you have not yet developed neither the scales nor tail indicative of that disease I would have to say you do not have Dragon Pox. It is simply the common cold."

"Excuse me?" he raised an incredulous eyebrow. There must have been some sort of the mistake because, as was explained in great detail to Madame Pomfrey, he was probably the farthest thing from common that there is. The illness plaguing him was of the most devious and resilient sort. He had missed Quidditch because of this. He'd fallen asleep, passed out some may say, in the Room of Requirement for crying out loud. Medi-witches from Japan and the States would need to be flooed in to cure him of this awful ailment.

Common? Please.

He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud. Nothing he did was common, not even getting sick. Besides, he had things that needed to get done. There were assignments for certain Dark Lord's that probably wouldn't even take loss of all limbs as an excuse. Malfoy wondered for a moment whether Madame Pomfrey had been cooped up in the hospital wing for too long and that's why she didn't understand. Or maybe she had dipped into the supply cabinet one too many times and her brain was addled beyond repair. There was some weird "herbal remedies" in there, …or so Pansy had told him.

He tried to convince her of the all too real chance of him having contracted dragon pox, but she would have none of it. Madame Pomfrey gave him one of the looks that she saved just for him. The patented "The time has come that I am done listening to you, go now and bother your friends" Look, because they both knew he was a bit of a hypochondriac, and giant ham.

"But," he continued, still trying to reason out how wrong Madame Pomfrey really was. "I'm not cold!" And he wasn't, not really, except for the chills that shook him once in a while. But over all he was quite warm, actually, and very uncomfortable. Plus his throat felt like someone was rubbing it with sandpaper. And his shiny, red, dripping nose was really quite undignified. All that had been given to aid that symptom was a roll of toilet paper.

Where did this woman learn medicine anyway?

She looked at him strangely for a moment as "the look" flickered and was replaced with a small smile. "It's just a name Mr. Malfoy. In technical terms your symptoms have been brought on by exposure to a rhinovirus."

"Rhinovirus is a daft name as well," Malfoy complained before his face clenched tight and a high-pitched sneeze blew out him nose.

"Well, those are the terms Muggles use for the illness."

Malfoy nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

A-HA!

"Muggles?"

"Well, yes, the Muggles were the first to diagnose and name this particular illness," Madame Pomfrey narrowed her eyes as she replied.

"So, it was a Mud-erm-Muggle-born who infected me?" he tried to keep his voice level, but bitterness and distaste managed to creep in despite his best efforts.

"I suppose that is a possibility," Madame Pomfrey answered through tight lips after realizing her slip. She tried to recover with, "But you see, Mr. Malfoy, the cold can affect both wizards and Muggles alike as we are all humans and possess the same immune system."

Malfoy translated this as, "It was the Muggles, Draco. The MUGGLES!" And what was an immune system anyway? Wizards shouldn't bother themselves with such useless and ridiculous Muggle concepts.

"Then why have I never heard of it before?" Malfoy challenged the woman with a sneer.

"You know perfectly well how cut off from Muggle society we are, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey raised herself up to her full height. "And just as Kneazle-Scratch Fever is uncommon in Muggles, so is the common cold in wizards."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and continued to glare defiantly. "Then what is the cure?"

"There is no cure, Mr. Malfoy."

He was going to die.

"What?" he choked out.

This was the end. Muggle germs had infiltrated the temple that was his body and would be the end of him. The Malfoy line was over because of a sore throat and headache. Done in by a Muggle infection. His father would never forgive him. No burial in the Malfoy tomb for the black sheep of the family.

It had all seemed so innocent when he had woken up this morning with the sniffles. But things were getting progressively worse. Even now he could breathe out of only one nostril. Oh no, was he going to slowly suffocate? How horribly undignified. He glanced down at the wet tissue in his hand.

Eww.

It was pretty gross too.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Mr. Malfoy. You'll be fine," her patience was bending back on itself. "You'll get better on your own. The virus will run its course in a few days. You have nothing to worry about."

"Oh," he frowned. That wasn't nearly as interesting. He'd have to spice things up for when he made his way back down to the dungeon. After swiping some medical supplies, of course.

"Just drink lots of fluids," Madame Pomfrey stated as she cleaned up the random tissues Malfoy had melodramatically littered around himself. She stood up again and eyed him warily. "Meaning water and pumpkin juice, Mr. Malfoy. A pint of butterbeer is not a recommended remedy." And then quickly added, "Nor is firewhiskey."

"Water," he nodded and attempted to blow his nose in a respectable way. His nose rewarded him with a giant honk. "Got it. Anything else?

"Well, I could send away for some Muggle medicine called a 'decongestant' or 'cough suppressant' but by the time they made it through the Muggle to Magical Customs and Imports Office you'd be better anyway," she grumbled. "Just get your rest," and pointed at him accusingly with the hand full of used tissues. "That means no gallivanting around the halls past curfew. Don't think I won't know." Malfoy didn't doubt it.

"So, no class then?" he asked off-handedly.

"No, I think you can manage that just fine," she replied quickly and took his last used tissue.

"One more question Madame Pomfrey," Malfoy said and took a leisurely sip of his pumpkin juice. "How was I infected with this… 'cold' Madame Pomfrey?"

The school Medi-Witch had absolutely no desire to answer this question because she knew what the reaction was going to be. But she couldn't very well lie to the boy, now could she. It's better to have an informed patient that not, even if they did jump to completely inappropriate conclusions. Honestly, the bit with the hippogriff in his third year had been quite ridiculous. She cleared the tissues away with the swipe of a wand and turned to face the waiting student.

"The virus enters your body through your nose and mouth."

"From where?"

"Well you might have touched an infected person's hand or an object they had touched. Perhaps by sharing instruments in class. Or-."

"Or what?"

"Droplets from a sneeze or cough."

"What!"

"Madame Pomfrey?" a new voice called from the entryway. The nurse quickly disappeared behind the curtain to go help the troubled student.

"Droplets?" Malfoy cringed at the mere sound of the word. People sneezed all the time. He knew for a fact Crabbe and Goyle didn't once cover their mouths. And if they didn't, the Mudbloods surely didn't and probably wiped their snot covered hands on the very desks he sat at everyday. Any desire he had before to head back to the dungeon and leave the relative, sterile safety of the hospital wing had disappeared. This was a nightmare.

-----

This was a nightmare. A nightmare. A ridiculous, moronic, never-going-to-leave-my-lips nightmare. This was the last time Hermione Granger took beauty advice from Lavender Brown. And most assuredly the last time she would ever use a spell given to her by said roommate.

A nightmare.

There really should be a stronger word. There probably was now that she thought of it. But alas, the thesaurus was not in the massive backpack slung over her shoulder. Hermione thought longingly of the wonderfully thick book of synonyms sitting on her dresser. She really should start to carry it around. You never know when you're going to need it. Take this instance for example. Yes, the moment she got back to her room the thesaurus would be moved to her backpack. The seams weren't too strained yet. That last backpack had been a worthless piece of rags anyway, this one was far stronger.

Hermione tried to think of a more scholarly version of "nightmare" as she headed quickly down the hallway, her neck and fingertips burning.

"You could have such pretty hair, Hermione," Lavender had said about two weeks ago. Parvati had nodded her head vigorously in agreement. "It just needs a little structure." Hermione thought Parvati's head might break off if she kept nodding so hard. It couldn't be good for her spinal cord.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked irritably from over her Arithmancy homework and shoved a piece of the aforementioned hair behind her ear. Of course studying in her room had been a horrible idea, but all the spots in the library had been claimed by nearly lunatic O.W.L. study sessions.

"Do you use conditioner, Hermione?" Lavender asked cautiously.

"Of course I do, what do you think I am?" Hermione snapped. Honestly, she could see Ron not recognizing she was a girl, but to have those of her very own gender feel the same way was actually quite hurtful. Maybe if she was nasty enough the two ridiculous girls would leave her alone. Normally their makeover moods could be tolerated with a semblance of patience. But when one has been trying to solve the limits of an equation for nearly fifteen minutes only to have squeals over boys and makeup make it near impossible, ones nerves tended to get a little fried. In this case, Hermione's felt like they had been ripped out, tied in knots, set on fire, and shoved up her nose. Needless to say, she had grown a little tired of her roommates.

"I, um, well, of course you do," Lavender smiled apologetically, but Hermione recognized the condescending tone that couldn't help but infiltrate. "But that's not enough, you know."

"I have naturally straight hair, Hermione," Parvati piped in. "But I still style it every morning."

"What, like mousse and gel?"

"Huh?"

"Ah, Muggle reference I guess."

"You mean all that goop that Muggle girls use?" Parvati's face twisted at the very idea. "I'd never put that stuff in my hair."

"We're talking charms, Hermione," Lavender smiled, hoping to coax her roommate in with the mention of magic.

"Speaking of Charms," Hermione replied dryly. "Don't we have a test at the end of the week?" With that accusing statement hanging in the air, Hermione bent back over her scrolls. Parvati and Lavender weren't in the least bothered by Hermione's words. For, while they left her alone, no Charms homework was done. Hermione wondered for a moment if all the charms they had cast on their hair made it impossible for them to hear, or perhaps learn, correctly.

They sat happily back down on Parvati's bed. Lavender, with wand in tow, picked up a piece of the other's long silky black hair. "Fervens Ferrum!" she announced and her wand glowed red. Quickly, she wrapped the strand of hair around the stick and held it for a moment. Then, when the wand was withdrawn that piece had magically transformed into a single luscious curl. Hermione couldn't help but regard the perfect curl with a tinge of jealousy. Before her roommates could catch her, Hermione quickly returned to her homework.

Not to long after there had been the entire Quidditch debacle. Lavender was not exactly one of Hermione's favorite people at the moment. Even if she had wanted to ask her roommate for help, it was doubtful she would be able to manage to stop sucking face with Ron long enough to even come upstairs. So she found herself alone between Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with wand in hand. The ghost had thankfully not made an appearance. So, Hermione was able to regard her reflection in peace. Somehow, her hair had grown to twice its normal size that morning. Probably just to spite her, Hermione thought bitterly.

"I will not be tamed!" it seemed announce as it frizzed outwards from her head. It was as if there were magnets in each strand, repelling the hair from her scalp.

"We shall see," Hermione narrowed her eyes at the mirror. She clenched her wand tightly and repeated the incantation Lavender had used before. "Fervens Ferrum!" The color of the wand beyond her hand slowly morphed from brown to a bright, glowing red. Intrigued, she touched the vibrant wand with a fingertip.

"Ouch!" Okay, so it was hot. She stuck her red finger in her mouth. No one had to know about that. She sucked gingerly on her digit before popping it back out. It didn't hurt that bad anyway.

It was an easy enough spell. Now came the difficult part. She set the wand down on the porcelain sink and separated out of section of her rebellious hair. Hermione took a deep breath and dove in.

Looking back on it all, Hermione knew she should have just stuck with conditioner and never tried to expand her beauty regiment. Really, it was just a disaster waiting to happen. Things hadn't started off well and they didn't continue well. First, she couldn't wind the hair correctly around the makeshift curling iron, thus burning her fingertips. Then she had to hold the strand securely on the wand, thus burning her fingertips. And, of course, she slipped up a few times, thus burning her neck.

But, Hermione Granger was not a quitter. She plowed through half of her bush of hair before a rather nasty burn on her neck made her reconsider. Okay, so maybe she was a quitter… this time. She was forced to concede victory to the creature on her head and she had hardly anything to show for all her hard work. The finished portion of hair was hardly an improvement and her fingers were definitely the worse for wear.

"Is that a hickey!" Parvati squealed after Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Huh?" Hermione replied distractedly as she put on her backpack. Parvati pointed to Hermione's neck, a manic grin splitting her face. Lavender's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her skull. Realization dawned on Hermione and she clapped a hand over one of several neck wounds. "It's nothing," she said quickly. "A spell misfired." Hey, it was true, if incredibly embarrassing. She mumbled a quick goodbye, fled the room and hungry glares of the school gossip queens, and made a beeline for the hospital wing.

"Madame Pomfrey?" she called out desperately, searching for any sign of the medi-witch. Madame Pomfrey appeared from the other side of a curtain and headed over to Hermione.

"Ms. Granger! What seems to be the problem dear?" she asked softly as she approached the tortured looking girl.

"I, um, well, I was wondering if you had anything to treat burns," Hermione asked slowly, looking anywhere else but at the woman addressing her.

"Burns!" Madame Pomfrey looked outraged. "What happened child?" Her eyes raked over the student searching for signs of life threatening wounds.

"Oh, it's nothing serious," Hermione held out her hands. "They just sting a bit." Actually they had started to hurt like hell.

"These look like magic burns Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey took Hermione's hand and inspected the red welts on her fingertips.

"Yes, well, it was from a spell," Hermione admitted sullenly. She didn't want to admit she couldn't handle a spell that Lavender Brown of all people had mastered.

"And what would that be?"

"Fervens Ferrum."

"Ms. Granger?" Madame Pomfrey's head tilted to the side slightly.

"Yes?"

"Where you curling your hair?" she asked with a small smile.

"I, well," Hermione sighed and lifted up her mane of hair to display the angry red marks on her neck. "Yes."

"Go lay down, Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey pointed to an empty bed. "I'll be right with you." Hermione couldn't help but smile. Surely curing small magical burns was second nature to an experienced witch like Madame Pomfrey. She bounced happily over to the empty bed.

"Granger," the voice cut through Hermione's new found happiness like a hacksaw, ripping it into unidentifiable rags.

The universe had decided to be unduly cruel today.

"Malfoy," Hermione responded with equal to greater frostiness. She primly settled into the cushions and crossed her legs, staring down the boy across the aisle from her.

Well, he looks like crap. Malfoy's pale face had taken on a rather unhealthy blotchy, waxy look. His nose shone like a red beacon across the infirmary as he held a rather soggy looking tissue in one hand.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"Feeling well, Malfoy?" Hermione plastered a snide grin on her face.

"Like a hundred Galleons," Malfoy smiled back. "Until you and your Mudblood germs walked in the room."

-----

The second year Hufflepuff that occupied one of the remaining beds in the infirmary waited for pictures to start flying across the room, lighting to crash, something, anything to happen. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were in the same room. Something awful or at least horribly interesting had to happen.

But luck was not on the side of the student. Reality was not nearly so interesting as all the rumors lead people to believe. Malfoy was too tired to put any real effort into his insults. Hermione was too embarrassed and irritated by her attempts into the realm of beauty products to deal with the abrasive Slytherin. She really couldn't afford to push any of Malfoy's buttons as she was hardly in the mood to be on the receiving end of comments about her ancestry or appearance. If he said anything she would probably have to kill him, and that would have been unfortunate. Her parents would not be pleased.

The Hufflepuff would be forced to embellish. And really it wasn't hard with the depth of rumors and stories permeating the halls of Hogwarts. The glares the Slytherin and Gryffindor exchanged were pretty awful. Throw in a mention of an Unforgivable Curse and you have yourself a pretty good tale.

So the Hufflepuff watched casually over her copy of Witch Weekly as rays of pure hatred flew across the aisle between the beds. The classmates were exchanging creepily polite smiles as the air in the room crackled with intensity.

Really, it was quite an unpleasant atmosphere, just not the stuff of legend… yet.

"Alright, here we are Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey bustled over to Hermione with a dish of salve, oblivious of the tension emanating from the girl.

"What? Oh, okay," Hermione flashed Malfoy one last scathing look before turning to the nurse. Madame Pomfrey pulled Hermione's mass of frizzy curls into a clip on the top of her head before applying the cool mixture to her neck. Hermione cringed at the icy temperature before relaxing as the soothing nature of the medicine calmed her nerves. She sighed happily as Madame Pomfrey treated her fingers and wrapped them in gauze.

"The burns will be right as rain in about an hour, Ms. Granger. You won't even be able to tell," Madame Pomfrey smiled and collected her things.

"Burns, Granger?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"It doesn't concern you in the least, Malfoy," Hermione replied in barely controlled tones. She crossed her arms defiantly and winced. Okay, so they weren't healed quite yet.

-----

On the spectrum of ridiculous Granger's current look belonged on the end reserved for his father dancing a jig and Longbottom passing Potions. There she sat, knee sock-clad legs crossed at the ankles staring him down boldly. The imposing figure she tried to cut was greatly impeded by the mass of bushy brown hair piled directly on the top on her head. The thick white cream smeared around her neck and gauze wrapped fingers didn't help either. She looked like a fool, a stupid Mudblood fool, and yet there she sat with that superior look on her face.

"I believe it does concern me, Granger," Malfoy scowled and gave a hearty sniff of his nose. Seeing the Gryffindor roll her eyes only strengthened the healthy fire of his hatred.

"Oh really, Malfoy," Hermione responded blandly. "And why is that, pray tell?"

"Well, for one, due to whatever moronic exploits you, Weasel, and the Boy Wonder were involved in, my quiet afternoon was most rudely interrupted."

"You aren't strapped to your bed, Malfoy," she replied snidely, the ball of hair wobbling dangerously. "Feel free to go, and let the door hit you on the way out."

"I'm convalescing over here!"

"I hear nice dank dungeons really speed the process," she nodded. "Why don't you go find out?"

"I was here first," Malfoy growled. "You leave."

"I'm convalescing as well."

"Please, it's just a few minor burns."

"Oh, and you're so tough over there, knocked off your feet by a little cold."

Wait.

"How do you know I have a cold?"

"Are you joking?" Malfoy shook his head. "You're sneezing and have a runny nose. Headache?" Malfoy had to nod in agreement. "Sore throat?" Again, he nodded. "And you aren't complaining too badly, so it's probably not the flu. Thus, cold. Duh."

"You seem to know an awful lot about the common cold, Granger," Malfoy said slowly as connections formed in his brain.

"It's a cold Malfoy," the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "Drink some water and get some rest. Everyone knows that."

"I most certainly do not!"

"What are you talking about?" she raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I am not some filthy Mudblood who is familiar with the bizarre and vast diseases of the Muggle world, thank you very much."

"You've never had a cold before?" she looked genuinely alarmed and intrigued.

"Of course not! I don't make it habit to hang around sick little Muggle children."

"You could have just have easily gotten it from a wizard," she replied darkly.

"Madame Pomfrey says the Muggles named it and studied. Sounds like a Muggle illness to me." Before the bushy haired know-it-all could get a word in edgewise, Malfoy laid out his suspicions. "Have you ever had a cold, Granger?"

"Of course, everyone gets colds."

"Not me."

"How nice for you. But from the looks of it the generations of inbreeding hasn't increased your immunity."

Ignoring the jab, with a great deal of difficulty, Malfoy continued, "Had one recently?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, yes," Granger responded slowly. "I just got over one, actually. Not that you would care."

"Sneezing, coughing, the full meal deal?"

"Yes, yes," she waved him on irritably.

"Did you go to Potions class during the time of your infection?"

"Of course, why would I let a silly cold keep me from my studies. Unlike you I don't let such minute problems interfere with the more important things in my life. Maybe if you would-"

"Blah, blah, blah, Granger. Hold off on the holier than thou attitude for half a minute, ok?" She glared in response and re-crossed her legs. "Did you use ingredients out of the class cabinet?"

"What? Yes, of course I did. Everyone does. What is this about?" she sighed in exasperation. "What does it matter?"

"I use the communal ingredients as well."

"And why should I care about your Potion habits, Malfoy?"

"It's your fault!" Malfoy climbed out off the bed and marched towards Hermione.

"Excuse me?" Hermione screeched, propping her hands on the bed and glaring back at him.

"From now on, keep yourself and your disgusting Mudblood droplets away from me," Malfoy barked. He vowed never again to make use of shared classroom items – only personal ingredients from now on.

"I would be more than happy never to see you again, Malfoy," she said with an eerie calm. The death glare the Gryffindor shot him was actually pretty scary, but he stood his ground.

"That can be arranged, Granger," he responded with a smirk and what he hoped was sufficient smugness. He crossed over to the door of the infirmary and turned back to the girl. "And your hair looks like Luna Lovegood's Gryffindor hat." Then he strode from the hospital wing with as much dignity as a man can muster when high pitched sneezes keep escaping from his nose. Oh, Granger would pay.


	2. An Irritating Case of Pink Eye

**_Chapter Two: An Irritating Case of Pink Eye_**

That was it. The final straw. She really couldn't be held responsible for her actions now. It was out of her hands. Malfoy had pushed just a little too hard. Well, actually he'd gotten into a bulldozer, not that he knew what they were, and pushed her five miles down the street. And who would blame her for fighting back? You don't curse a girl's lineage, say she's diseased, and make fun of her hair all in one sitting. There was only so much a person can take.

After her burns were healed and Madame Pomfrey gave a few pointers on the Fervens Ferrum spell, Hermione was off. She had nodded patiently and appreciated Madame Pomfrey's advice, but she had no time for such childish endeavors. Ron wasn't able to notice a new hair style, anyway. Hermione Granger now had a new mission. That mission, of course, involved the library. Due to a stroke of genius she knew exactly what she was looking for.

Hermione's plan for a revenge spell was inspired by her Great Uncle Gilbert. Nevermind that Malfoy had indirectly given her the idea in the first place. It was all Great Uncle Gilbert. She had only one real memory of the man. It involved a pair of giant sunglasses that an eight year old Hermione had been horribly envious of. They had been extraordinary spectacles that wrapped clear around the sides of his head, not letting so much as a drop of light in. She had wanted them so bad but the stubborn old man had only chuckled and told her he couldn't dare to part with them.

Gilbert had his cataracts removed, Hermione's mother had explained when the child came to complain to her. He hadn't been able to see and he needed the special glasses to protect his eyes after surgery. Excuses, excuses, as far as Hermione had been concerned at the time. But she was interested in the grey film that had slowly grown over his eyes, stealing his sight from him.

"A-Ha!" Hermione smiled deviously as she found her prey in the confines of a particularly dusty book. Apparently there wasn't much demand for books on eyeballs. She found this odd given that most kids love gross stuff like that. It was in Middle English, so maybe that had something to do with it. Hmm.

Nebulosus Oculus. The perfect spell for the occasion. Draco Malfoy wouldn't have to see her ever again once she cast this.

-----

Whereas Hermione sought the solace of the library, Draco Malfoy delivered himself to the hungry arms of one Pansy Parkinson. Unfortunately, Pansy would have none of it. She was not about to chance infecting herself with the horrible Muggle parasite even for a kiss from her beloved Draco. Malfoy really wasn't in a kissing mood, anyway. The confrontation with Granger had left him frustrated and angry. Kissing usually got him the invitation to continue to more interesting activities; and sex had seemed the best outlet for what was raging through his system. That or killing something, but Pansy had come along first.

For as bitchy as Pansy was to nearly every other being on the face of the earth, she babied Malfoy like there was no tomorrow. She coddled him when he was hurt, hung off of every word he said, and always made him feel important. He had no idea was drove her to act like a complete flake around him, nor did he care, but he enjoyed it. Even if it did grate on his nerves at times, he was almost always guaranteed a willing partner. Except maybe in this case, it seemed.

It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, when after she turned away from his kiss her slender little fingers moved down to flutter over the fly of his trousers. "How about I give you a little pick me up instead," she smiled coyly and bit her lip. Malfoy's scowl morphed quickly into a satisfied smirk. This required even less work on his part. Perfect! He settled happily into the chair by his bed.

Pansy Parkinson didn't waste time getting to business. Just as in her everyday life, she was efficient. You didn't want to get on the wrong side of her. When someone pushed one of her buttons, the ramifications were immediate. If her Draco was feeling crummy, she would fix it the best and fastest way she knew how. And she knew how much he loved this.

She reached into his pants and gently pulled out what she sought. Malfoy could hardly help his body's reaction given that he was a teenage boy. His body knew what was coming and could hardly wait to feel the warm chamber of Pansy's mouth. As she worked away, Malfoy took a moment to reflect. Why was it that he loved this so much? Besides the obvious, it probably had to do with his lack of involvement. He could sit idly back and let his partner do everything. Malfoy wasn't one to really dirty his hands. Sex involved all sorts of sweat and quite a bit of work, especially if it was going to be done right. And it had to be done right, or the girl would go tell her friends that Draco Malfoy couldn't get her off. That was a horrendous thought.

Pansy was always a safe bet though. Just being in the same room with him got her knickers wet. If his hands got anywhere near the same neighborhood as what lay beneath those soaked undergarments, she was a goner. That's probably why Pansy was the only girl he ever tried to bring to the edge with just his fingers. It was just so easy, but she had such a strong reaction Malfoy felt such a feeling of accomplishment. Other girls he had to go down on, and it kind of smelled down there some of the time. All of this after he had already gotten what he came for, so he really wasn't in the mood. It was all quite unpleasant.

But this, Malfoy stroked Pansy's hair as her head bobbed up and down, this was good. Plus, he didn't have to see her awful little pug face when she was thus occupied. That's probably why he liked to do her from behind as well. Bent over the table in the Slytherin common room was a personal favorite. He felt himself twitch at the idea, but knew he didn't have the time. Pansy swallowed as Malfoy found release. He waited for the satisfying popping sound as he slipped out from between her lips. He loved that part.

"Feel better, Drakey?" she winked and stood up.

"Marvelous," he smirked and lazily trailed a finger up her toned thigh. She shuddered heavily at his touch. "You're too good to me, Pansy." He ran his middle finger along the cloth that covered her slit. She'd spread her legs to accommodate the intrusion and tried to find purchase against the digit. Malfoy retreated and looked up at her innocently. "Is there something you want?"

"Yes," she hissed and grabbed blindly at his hand. She shoved it between her legs and ground wantonly against it. This was how it always worked. He would acknowledge what she had given him, because he knew she needed to hear that. To keep feeding her sick desire to mother him. But he loved to hear her beg.

Malfoy couldn't help but smile in self-satisfaction as he set his fingers to work. He slid inside the bands of her barely existent and completely soaked underwear and directly into Pansy's folds. "Now what could it be?" he pondered mockingly and teased his fingers around.

"Please," Pansy managed to whine. She was gazing up at the ceiling, practically praying, as she pushed Malfoy's hand tightly against her center. With one inserted deeply inside, his thumb found her button. Even here, Malfoy really didn't need to put forth much effort. Pansy's hips did the majority of the work, he just held his hand still while the other slipped around to grab her ass. Malfoy wondered for a moment whether they might try that someday, but couldn't be bothered to care much. He was quickly losing interest in the girl hovering above him.

Pansy had grabbed the chair on either side of his head for support and was panting most unattractively into his ear. Malfoy decided he had had enough of Pansy Parkinson for the moment. After she reached climax, and shrieked into his ear, Malfoy wiped his hands off on her skirt and left the room. It was time to find new company, even if it was Crabbe and Goyle.

"We can show her a thing or two," Goyle smirked when Malfoy reported on the happenings of the infirmary.

"Like a knuckle sandwich," Crabbe chuckled idiotically at his own cleverness. Malfoy weighed the pros and cons of the suggestion. It did have its merits. A swift right hook delivered to Granger's face did give him a nice, comforting feeling in his stomach. But no, this time he would handle things on his own. Plus, given he wasn't exactly big on physical confrontation, a spell really was the wiser choice. A spell that delivered the same results was about as close to perfect as one could get.

He had found it in one of Goyle's spell books. Not that the oaf would ever be able to cast it on his own. Turgida Luminis. The spell was pure genius. Draco would rather eat bubotuber puss before admitting that Mudblood Granger had given him the initial idea to begin with. And no one ever needed know that Crabbe and Goyle had been the inspiration. Goyle just had the damn book to see the gross pictures.

-----

In some circles, the events that transpired would be regarded as an instance of 'great minds think alike.' In this case, however, both parties would have been greatly offended by such an insinuation. Then, they would have proceeded to accuse the other of stealing their idea. If it had been explained to each how the other had come across their solution Hermione would have called Malfoy a pervert, while he would have referred to her as a bookworm who had an unhealthy obsession with her great uncle. But this is all beside the point, back to our story.

Hermione Granger was in her room practicing, of course. In any other case Hermione would have been able to let go of such anger. It really wasn't healthy, or productive, to hold onto such negative feelings. But they simply wouldn't go away. She couldn't study efficiently, she couldn't sleep well, everything was off. All because Draco Malfoy had to make fun of her hair.

Now, rationally, she knew that it wasn't all Malfoy. It was a combination of her roommates attitude towards her appearance, Ron's ignorance of her very gender, Ron's obsession with that awful Fleur, the adhesive that sealed Ron's lips to Lavender's, Ron's determination to be a complete moron, etc. Problems were simply compounding. But, Hermione couldn't very well take out her anger and frustration on her friends. Malfoy was the best target.

So, Hermione was going to bide her time. What was the point to hurting Malfoy when he was still sick? She would wait till he was better, then strike. Only then would he experience the full force of her amazing spell.

"He'll get what's coming to him," Hermione nodded and looked to Crookshanks for support. The cat regarded her with his huge eyes, but soon turned back to attacking her toes. "Sorry Crookshanks, time for you to go," Hermione picked up the bushy ginger cat and dropped him off outside the dorm room door. He meowed in protest, but Hermione knew he would just attack the dust bunnies she transfigured and make things a lot more difficult.

"I just wish I new what he was up to," Harry mumbled a week later during breakfast. Ron glanced across the Great Hall and watched the pale Slytherin pick at his food.

"Give it a rest, Harry," Ron sighed before returning to attacking Lavender's neck. The girl giggled brainlessly and Hermione thought she might be sick.

"Do they have to neck during every single meal?" she complained to Harry, "Or is it just the ones I'm at?" But Harry wasn't even close to listening. Currently he was glaring at Malfoy, trying to figure out what horrible evil the boy was up to. But Hermione knew Malfoy was just taking his sweet time recuperating from his stupid cold. She had Nebulosus Oculus down to a science and was just waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

-----

Malfoy was sick and tired of Potter staring at him. The Boy Who Lived to be Obnoxious was really starting to grate on his nerves. Malfoy just did not have time to deal with nosy Potter and Co. He was still trying to deal with that damn dresser, and he just couldn't shake this cold. Madame Pomfrey was less than helpful in that department. If he was told to drink fluids one more time he would be forced to hurt someone.

Now that he thought of it, he still hadn't brought down the almighty Wrath of Malfoy upon the unsuspecting Mudblood. He had been so busy with his dark duties and ditching Potter it had completely slipped his mind. To her credit, she had kept out of his hair since the run-in in the infirmary. It must have taken all of her effort, but it had been a nice break. But the time had come, Malfoy decided.

Lady Luck decided to favor Draco Malfoy for once that very evening. The opportunity he was hoping for made itself available after dinner. He spotted Granger separate herself from the group of Potter lovers and head towards the library. Figures.

Malfoy pulled out his wand and followed after her stealthily. The heels of her horrendous shoes echoed off the walls as the sounds of their fellow schoolmates disappeared into the distance. No one else in their right minds were heading to the library. It was Friday night. Even the O.W.L. students were clocking in some much needed social time.

As she headed up a flight of stairs, Malfoy saw his chance. He pulled his fisted wand hand back, shouted the spell, and threw his fist forward as if he was punching the air.

"Turgida-," the spell was halfway out of his lips with Granger turned to face him. Her wand was already in hand, pointed directly at his face. It was like she knew he had been back there. She drew a small circle in the air and mumbled something as Malfoy finished. "Luminis!" And then a spectacular mess of black and blue sparks flew through the air towards the bushy haired Gryffindor, but not before she finished her own incantation. Malfoy turned to run, wishing he could see the Mudblood be thrown to the floor by the sheer power of his spell, but knowing it was better to try and escape whatever Granger sent his way.

Before he could make the turn out of the stairway and into the corridor he was surrounded by a dense grey fog. Malfoy soon realized, however, the fog wasn't around him, it was in his eyes. A silvery mass was creeping along his line of vision, blocking out nearly all light and turning objects into unrecognizable blobs. He could hardly believe Granger had gotten him, and with a spell that nearly mirrored his own. She had been planning just as he had been. How embarrassing.

The only consolation Malfoy got as he felt his way back to the Slytherin Common Room was the memory of most unladylike words coming from the mouth of the Mudblood when his spell had hit.

-----

It felt like she had been punched in the face. Several times. By a very large man. With brass knuckles. And other unsavory characteristics. And it hurt! And she couldn't see worth a darn since both eyes had swelled up to unimaginable sizes. Her spell had only robbed Malfoy of his sight, and not even all of it at that, but she hadn't caused him any pain. She needed to learn to be more ruthless. Maybe he would fall down a flight of stairs. That would be a start.

Hermione knew she couldn't return to the Common Room looking like this. Harry didn't need to get anymore riled up than he already was. She never wanted Ron to see her looking like this. And she'd hate not knowing if Ron sought out vengeance just because it was an excuse to kick Malfoy's ass, or if her really cared she had been hurt. That was an awful thing to say, but a person could not be expected to think rationally when they have two black eyes.

He probably wouldn't be able to extract his hand from Lavender's bra long enough to fight, anyway.

Besides, she really needed to see Madame Pomfrey. Surely she would be able to clear her mutilated face up in a jiffy.

"Ms. Granger!" Hermione turned towards the sound of the medi-witch rushing to her rescue. It had taken quite a while to find the hospital wing with no eye sight, a bad headache, and severely bruised ego. The castle had been sending her in circles for what seemed like hours. But she had made it.

"Ah, um. Hello, Madame Pomfrey," she replied stupidly and shut the door carefully behind her.

"What happened to you child?" the nurse asked as she gingerly touched and inspected the injury done to Hermione's face.

"Yes, well…" Hermione trailed off. She had no idea what to say. She couldn't very well admit she had been dueling with Malfoy in the school corridors. Sure, he had attacked her first, but she had retaliated with a spell she had been working on for just such an occasion. It was pre-meditated. Hermione could feel the Head Girl badge slipping out of her grasp.

"This is the second eye injury tonight," Madame Pomfrey continued with outrage. "Mr. Malfoy just checked in with a horrible case of Magical Cataracts."

"Oh, really?" Hermione replied weakly. A horrible case, eh? Excellent. But that meant Malfoy was in sick bay, and had spilled everything. Of course he would find a way to wiggle out of this. Hermione felt a strong desire to ring his pale little neck.

"Apparently a potion backfired," the medi-witch continued in carefully measured tones. "I suppose I'll have to speak with that new professor about his lesson plan. It must be far too dangerous," Madame Pomfrey quickly switched gears. "Well, child, what happened to you? Out with it now. Did you have trouble with a potion, dear?"

Malfoy hadn't told. Hermione wasn't sure how to react. She couldn't very well tell the truth now. She couldn't let Malfoy of all people be the bigger person.

"I, uh, I forgot about that trick step, and fell," Hermione mentally slapped herself at the idiotic lie that flew from her mouth.

"Really," Madame Pomfrey's voice practically dripped with incredulity.

"Yes, you know me," Hermione tried to cover her tracks. "Hermione the Klutz. I still haven't mastered Fervens Ferrum yet, I just can't seem to get the hang of it."

"I know the difference between a magical and non-magical injury Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Madame Pomfrey-."

"Just as I know Mr. Malfoy's cataracts were not brought on by any potion."

"Really?"

"I understand student may have disputes, Ms. Granger," the nurse continued in her low, calm whisper. "I just wish they didn't have to involve my infirmary."

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," Hermione quickly replied, wishing she could make eye contact with the woman who stood before her. She felt so ashamed. She had acted like such a child.

"I'm sure it won't," Madame Pomfrey patted Hermione softly on the head. "For now, you'll have to spend the evening in the infirmary along with Mr. Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione managed to choke out. "It's going to take that long?"

"For magic induced injuries such as these, yes," she replied. "If you had actually fallen down the stairs it would have been easier. You have to stay so I can change your bandages and monitor you during the night."

Hermione succumbed to her fate and accepted the hospital robe from Madame Pomfrey. After being led to her bed, checked for any other injuries, treated with an ointment that smelled like meat and cucumbers, Madame Pomfrey left her to get some sleep.

"So, you fell down the stairs, Mudblood?" Malfoy's voice came from surprisingly close. He was in the bed to her left. Wonderful. What had Madame Pomfrey been smoking?

"I didn't realize you had such troubles in Potions, Malfoy," Hermione spat back. "Would you like me to ask Neville if he could tutor you?"

"You smell awful, like rancid meat."

"It's Eau de Malfoy, I thought you might recognize it."

"I suppose it's an improvement over your normal Mudblood stench then."

"Shut up Malfoy."

"Clever."

Hermione had to literally slap a hand over her mouth from replying. She knew she would only encourage him if she continued. And talking with Draco Malfoy was very low on the list of activities she wanted to engage in at the moment. Sleep was a very high priority, however, as it involved not hearing the awful little ferret.

And she did sleep, until she was rudely awakened by the grating noise that was Pansy Parkinson's laugh.

"Visiting hours are over, Parkinson," Hermione growled. The curtain rings rattled as the fabric was pulled roughly to the side.

"Draco needs me," Pansy retorted. "I wouldn't have to sneak into the hospital wing in the first place if you could keep your filthy little Mudblood hands off of him."

"I didn't touch him," Hermione sat up and snapped in the direction she was pretty sure Pansy stood. It was hard to be intimidating when you couldn't see.

"How do the effects of my spell look?" Malfoy interjected coolly. "Nice and swollen, I hope."

"I can't see her face, Draco. She's wrapped up like a mummy. The look is an improvement, but she does smell awful, doesn't she?" and the giggling recommenced.

"I noticed that too," Malfoy replied dully. "Come on back, Pansy." Hermione heard the curtains to the left of her bed shift back into place.

"So, is there anything you need before you go to sleep?" The rancid tones of Pansy's voice she had used when talking to Hermione were replaced by saccharine sweet ones.

"There is one thing," Malfoy replied. Hermione distinctly heard the sound of rustling sheets.

"Here, Draco?" Pansy asked in a whisper. "But Granger-."

"It doesn't bother me. She can't see anything, anyway," Malfoy said with a scoff. "The Mudblood could do with some excitement in her life. I doubt even Weasel or Saint Potter have ventured into that territory."

"True," Pansy giggled. Behind the layers of gauze, Hermione narrowed her eyes. She knew it had been an insult, but it just wasn't clear to her what exactly it meant.

"Get a move on then," Malfoy said crisply. "I need to get my beauty sleep."

"What about that awful nurse?"

"Muffliato," Malfoy cast a spell. "Silencing Charm, don't worry about . Now get on with it or do I have to take care of it myself?"

"No!" Pansy shrieked. "Let me just get these off." There was a pause and Hermione heard the creaking of the sad little hospital cot. Everything became very clear, very quickly.

No. Way.

"You're not doing what I think you're doing!" Hermione demanded from her bed, cheeks on fire. "Are you?"

"Back off Granger," Malfoy snapped. "Merlin, Pansy, you're so wet."

"You know how you make me feel, Drakey," Pansy purred. "I'm always ready for you." Hermione felt her stomach lurch.

"Will you two pervs at least keep it down?" Hermione asked in a slight panic, not knowing how to handle the situation.

"Will you shut up Granger? Pansy, you on top," Malfoy ordered crisply. "I can't see a bloody thing."

"Oh, Draco!" Pansy's obnoxious little voice squealed with delight. The bed began to gently creak.

"Stop that!" Hermione sat up straighter in bed and shouted in the direction of the offending noises.

"Is there a problem, Granger?" Malfoy's voice sounded entirely nonchalant over the sounds of the soft squeaks coming from both Pansy and the hospital cot.

"No problems here!" Pansy reported happily. "I thought, uh, I wouldn't, yes, get to, that's it, right there. That fucking nurse made me leave. Yes, yes, uhn!"

"I'm trying to sleep, Malfoy," Hermione finally worked up the courage to say, only a slight tremor betrayed her bravado.

"I'm trying to get some pussy."

"Ew!"

"My pussy is so wet for you Draco," Pansy panted. "So fucking hot. Fuck me, Draco."

"Merlin, Parkinson," Hermione said in amazement. How could Pansy be doing this right on the other side of a curtain? How could anyone talk like that?

"Jealous, Granger?" Pansy managed to get out between grunts.

"Hardly," Hermione sneered. "I simply have no desire to be witness to the mating rituals of Slytherins."

"It's as much action as you'll ever see," Malfoy sounded amazingly collected compared to the ridiculous moaning that was emanating from Pansy Parkinson. "Or hear, rather."

"Screw you, Malfoy," Hermione regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"Sorry, I'm taken at the moment," Malfoy quipped.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," Hermione said in disbelief. "And you two are having sex in the infirmary!"

"It's the most sterile place in the castle, what's wrong with that?" Hermione could practically hear Malfoy's smirk.

"Nothing is wrong as long as Draco is inside me," Pansy sighed happily as the bed shook. Her voice was strangely displaced, as if she were just talking to herself. She squealed in ecstasy. "Anything to feel Draco's cock inside me."

"That's disgusting. I can't take this anymore, I'm getting Madame Pomfrey," Hermione flipped her blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, hoping she could hone in on the door to the medi-witch's office.

"I don't think so Granger. I really can't be disturbed right now," Malfoy responded lazily. "Pansy, hold off for a moment. Pan-Pansy! Stop moving. Geez, woman, Wait for half a second! Petrificus Totalus!"

And Hermione couldn't move. Her rigid body fell across her mattress and she was forced to listen to the rhythm of the squeaking bed. Pansy's mantra of "Fuck me, fuck me, yes, Merlin, Draco, Harder! Harder! Yes, yes, yes!" was the only thing that could be heard above the now incessant creaking. Hermione thanked the heavens when Pansy's climax sounded off the walls and nearly ruptured her eardrums. At least it was finally over.

Hermione Granger had never been so humiliated in her life. She'd just witnessed, well, heard, two people having sex not ten feet from where she lay. It was too disgusting for words. She couldn't understand how people could behave like that. Sex was supposed to be something special shared between two people who love each other. And her body certainly wasn't supposed to react this way to this voyeuristic experience! Hermione certainly hadn't asked for the uncomfortable warmth and tingling centered at the apex of her thighs. And yet there it was, the telltale slickness between her legs. She had been turned on by that ridiculous spectacle! Gross.

She couldn't find relief in sleep no matter how hard she tried. The unfurling desire in her abdomen refused to dissipate. Even after Pansy left for the night, and Malfoy ended the petrification spell, Hermione could not find comfort. All she could do was rub her legs together in frustration to try and abate some of the pressure. And she morally refused to try anything else given where the feelings had originated. No way was she getting out of bed to find Madame Pomfrey and talk about anything that just happened. Thankfully Malfoy didn't say anything because she had no idea what her voice might give away.

Finally, exhaustion overtook the poor girl. But Hermione was unlucky even in the dream world. She was haunted by the events of the evening. The images her mind created were completely unwanted and made Hermione wonder how she was capable of such thoughts. Pansy bouncing away on top of Malfoy was not something anyone should have to see. It was a nightmare. The scene shifted and suddenly she was the one riding away to ecstasy. Again, she there had to be a stronger word for nightmare.

-----

Draco Malfoy hadn't slept so well in a long time. Sex with Pansy hadn't been that exciting in over a year. And he hadn't felt so satisfied in even longer. He racked his brain for some sort of explanation: anything other than what was glaringly obvious.

He was a pervert because he'd enjoyed the fact that someone had been listening.

He was crazy because he liked that it was Hermione Granger who heard.

Did Madame Pomfrey mention something about colds causing brain damage? Surely there was some sort of correlation between his congested sinuses and being turned on by a Mudblood. It just wasn't natural. That was it. Something natural. Find an object to direct his unbidden desire at. A respectable target.

So Malfoy sat in his bed staring at the backs of his eyelids as his mind flipped through the images of the girls he knew both at home and Hogwarts. Hermione Granger continued to make unwanted appearances, but he roughly pushed the idea of her aside. Someone, anyone.

Hannah Abbot!

There. The Hufflepuff was an easy target. She didn't have near the temper of Granger and filled out a sweater a hundred times better. Malfoy focused on the image of her luscious curves and how wonderful her breasts had felt. But as he remembered their tryst he recalled more than just her body, unfortunately. Hannah Abbot was a bit of a non-person. For while she was anything but disagreeable she wasn't exactly agreeable. Hannah Abbot held no strong opinions, rather, she simply followed the course laid out for her. She did and thought was she was told to do and think. Everything Hermione Granger was most definitely not.

Stop thinking about Granger.

Bedding her had been surprisingly easy. Malfoy had expected a degree of naiveté given her angelic appearance. He had a slight kink for pigtails. But apparently she'd done it before. There was no need for seduction or force on his part. She'd taken her jumper and knickers off and let him have at it. And while she was pretty it had been anything but the best screw of his life. She just laid there with a smile. Hannah Abbot was the polar opposite of Pansy who screamed at the top of her lungs whether he was just fingering her or fucking her brains out.

She sure had screamed last night. Maybe it had been the new position. Or maybe she had wanted to put on a good show for Granger.

Crap.

He was back at Granger. And despite himself he wondered what the Mudblood would be like in bed. Was she a Pansy or a Hannah? Who was he kidding, her pussy would probably bite his cock off the second it had the chance.

That thought cooled his libido off in record time.

Malfoy had been resting comfortably when Madame Pomfrey bustled over to him.

"Good Morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said cheerily. "Time to take those bandages off!" Her skills hands made quick work of the wrappings around his eyes. "Go ahead and open your eyes, child," she said sharply. "Let me have a look." She pried his left eye apart with skilled fingers. After his eyes adjusted to the stinging bright light of the infirmary, the medi-witch's figure came into focus. "Good as new, it appears," she reported after having a quick look at his other eye.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," she nodded. "Off to the Great Hall with you."

"Well, actually, I'm not all that hungry," Malfoy explained. "I'll just rest up a bit more I think."

"No skipping classes."

"Of course not," Malfoy shook his head. The lies rolled off his tongue with ease. As soon as the nurse left for breakfast he would be off to the Room of Requirement. Malfoy had far more important issues that anything a class could provide.

"Very well," Madame Pomfrey said coolly. "Have a lovely day, Mr. Malfoy." He reclined back onto his pillow and waited patiently for her to leave. As the door closed behind her Malfoy swung his legs over the side of the bed. The curtains ahead of him were pulled back roughly on there steel pole to reveal a very angry looking Hermione Granger.

"Granger!" Malfoy's eyes widened. He hadn't counted on running into her. Apparently she'd been laying in wait for him behind the curtain, ready to strike. "You look like crap Granger." And she did. The swelling of the black eyes she sported courtesy of Malfoy hadn't quite disappeared. Her eyes were ringed in a sick purple that gave her an odd raccoon-like appearance. But, despite the sorry appearance of her face, she was definitely not a woman to be messed with. Her stance was strong: feet shoulder-width apart, white knuckles gripping the curtain, and hair like a medusa.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Granger demanded as she marched towards him, index finger nearly touching his nose when she came to a stop. "Why did you do that? I didn't think even you could sink so low."

"Whatever do you mean?" he blinked his pale blonde eyelashes. Granger's eyes were bloodshot, too. She looked like a crazy person. This was fun.

"You're sick," she growled.

"That's the way Pansy likes it," Malfoy couldn't help but smile widely.

"I'm all too familiar with what Pansy likes," Granger's right eye twitched quite a few times during the sentence.

"What exactly is the problem, Mudblood?" Malfoy cocked his head to the side. He had never seen Hermione Granger so frazzled before. It was rather exhilarating to know he had this effect on her. Smarty pants Granger was such a prude!

"You know exactly what my problem is Malfoy!"

"I think I do," he winked and shoved his hand between her legs and up her skirt. Granger's eyes widened in disbelief as fingers met underwear. She squeaked and quickly tried to jump out of his grasp. But Malfoy pressed upwards as he rubbed incessantly, effectively blocking her escape for a blessed moment. The sight of Granger bucking against his hand was more of an incredible sight then he would have ever guessed. And it was over all too soon.

She slipped out of Malfoy's grip. And after a deep, shaky intake of breath and giving him a hardy slap across the face, Hermione Granger made her exit.


	3. An Annoying Bit of Laryngitis

**_Chapter Three: An Annoying Bit of Laryngitis_**

Hermione had tried several times, in the name of education of course, to bring herself to orgasm. She'd followed all the rules that she had skimmed from health books both here and in the Muggle world. If one was going to conduct an experiment, after all, knowing the material was key. But all of her attempts combined hadn't had a fraction of the effect Malfoy's fingers had in just two seconds.

Her shaking legs could barely carry her weight as she stumbled out of the infirmary. She had to get as far away from Malfoy as possible. This was not right. The world had been turned upside down. How could Draco Malfoy of all people have this effect on her?

She found herself outside of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and entered it without a second thought. Running into someone on their way to class was not something she wanted to deal with at the moment. And the ghost was nowhere to be seen. Perfect. Hermione had some business that needed to be taken care of before she could plot her revenge.

Careful to avoid Myrtle's personal stall, Hermione entered one and locked herself in. With a look of pure determination she pulled down her underwear and had a seat. She spread her legs wide and inhaled deeply as the cool air hit the pool of heat between her legs. Gingerly she touched her inner folds with an index finger, reveling in the feeling of the liquid coating her. The human body really was an amazing thing.

No science right now, she reminded herself. Now, what had the books said?

With two fingers she stroked herself, up and down. Small shudders of pleasure swirled around and spread through her body. And despite herself, Hermione replayed the image of Malfoy with his hand up her skirt. It was awful how erotic that was to her. She circled her clit and tried her best to think of something other than the damn Slytherin.

Ron. Ron should be the one she fantasized about. He was the one she loved despite how huge of a moron he happened to be. How dare she think of Malfoy when Ron would be the one who penetrated her with his fingers like she was doing right now. Hermione did her best to see his red head nestled between her legs pumping two fingers in and out of her.

Hermione tried to find a rhythm, but it just couldn't be done. Her fingers were coated in her own juices but Hermione felt nothing beyond a dull pleasant feeling. Rubbing around her clit helped ease the ache in her center, but harder contact just sent useless sharp bolts of through her body. Nothing changed. What had Malfoy done? What was the secret to this? Hermione was starting to get very angry at her useless attempts.

"So someone finally decides to visit me," Myrtle's head appeared through the stall door. The look of scorn on the ghost's face was quickly replaced with a look of scandalized delight. "What are you doing!" she gasped. Hermione froze in terror as she met the ghost's wide open eyes. Hermione could hardly believe what was happening. But there she sat on the toilet, knickers at her ankles, skirt up around her waist, hunched over with both hands working diligently on her naughty bits. What had she been thinking?

"Nothing!" Hermione's hands flew to the toilet paper and rolled off a considerably large section to clean her fingers and wipe her privates down. "I had to use the facilities, is that a crime?"

"People don't normally gasp and groan when their using the loo, unless their having intestinal trouble," Myrtle pulled herself all the way through the door and regarded Hermione doubtfully. "And it didn't sound, or look, like you were having intestinal trouble."

"Mind your own business Myrtle," Hermione snapped and walked through the spirit.

"I'm only trying to make conversation. No one ever wants to talk to me," Myrtle whimpered. "No one except for him. He likes to talk to me. He tells me things he doesn't tell anyone else. You won't even admit to something I caught you doing!" But Hermione was already blocking out the ghost's usual tirade and left the bathroom.

"Hermione!" Ron and Harry greeted her cheerfully at their first class of the day.

"Why weren't you at breakfast?" Ron asked.

"I slept in!" Hermione barked at the red-haired boy, angry at him for reasons beyond just the question. "Can't a girl sleep in!"

"Easy, Hermione," Harry tried to take the heat off of his clueless pal. "We just worried because we didn't see you last night either."

Hermione highly doubted Ron had taken time away from depriving Lavender of oxygen to have noticed. Her eye twitched at the image of him nuzzling the ridiculous girl. She was sick of that image.

"I stayed late at the library," Hermione reported through clenched teeth. She was very aroused and angry, and definitely not in the mood to answer questions from friends who had been ignoring her existence for quite some time.

----

It was called "Make Granger Twitch." It just happened to be one of the best games ever created. Ever since the encounter in the infirmary Mudblood Granger had developed a hilarious little tick. She would twitch if he pushed her buttons in the slightest way. It was the most fun he'd had in a long time. And he'd been the one to invent it. He was very proud.

Unfortunately there weren't many opportunities to play the fantastic new game. He was busy with things in the Room of Requirement half the day and she was with one or both of the Wonder Twins the majority of the day. So, he had to take advantage of the time she was alone during Arithmancy (the scintillating subject that it is) or when she was in the library.

"Good Morning, Granger," he nodded to her amicably as they entered the classroom together. He always timed it perfectly.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged him and swiftly took her seat at the front of the classroom.

"Did you finish the homework?" he asked and slid into the desk beside her.

"Yes," she responded and pulled more books out of her backpack than was physically possible.

"No problems?"

"No," she then pulled several rolls of parchment out that were amazingly not bent at all.

"No you didn't have trouble, or no you did?" he cocked his head to the side.

Granger took a deep breath, and answered smoothly, "I didn't have any trouble Malfoy. But I'm sorry, I don't have time to tutor you."

"Oh, I don't need tutoring in Arithmancy, Granger," Malfoy sneered. "But maybe you need some tutoring in other areas."

"I would never come to you for tutoring, Malfoy," the bushy-haired witch spun in her seat to snap in his face. Excellent.

"I think you would come for me, Granger," he drawled. Wait for it.

Granger turned quickly to the front of the room, but not before he saw her right eye give a definite twitch.

"Class, please copy down the algorithms on the board," Professor Vector interrupted any further attacks on the Gryffindor's mental state.

-----

Hermione Granger was not a stupid girl, she knew exactly what Malfoy was up to. He was playing mind games, and it was really quite obnoxious. The tick had become quite embarrassing, thus forcing her to go to Madame Pomfrey. Apparently she was "putting herself under too much stress and should not worry so much about schoolwork" or some rubbish like that. The nurse had assigned some relaxation exercises that Hermione dubbed as ridiculous hippie placebos, but tried anyway. Amazingly enough, they had been surprisingly effective. Apparently, Hermione was far more skilled at calming herself than stimulating. Just in case, she had developed an alternate plan if Malfoy didn't learn to keep his mouth shut.

Matters on the Ron front had gone steadily downhill. Now, in addition to Harry's lack of understanding Lavender was out-rightly rude to her whenever she was in the same room as Ron. It was easier to focus on defeating Malfoy's games and simply not think about how oblivious Ron was to her feelings and silly, catty girls.

"Granger," Malfoy greeted her as he sat at the desk behind her. She had thought for once she was safe from his harassment as he was nearly late for class and all the seats around her were taken. He'd, however, simply grabbed the Ravenclaw sitting behind her by the collar and told him to sod off. The Ravenclaw agreed to the terms, and found a seat elsewhere.

"That was rude," she said over her shoulder.

"So?"

"I thought being a pureblood meant you would possess better manners."

"Being a pureblood means I don't have to."

"Obviously."

"I've got it where it counts."

"The double entendres are getting a little old Malfoy," Hermione responded smoothly, thankful for the lack of eye twitching. "You should get some new material."

"I would think you'd enjoy the attention," Malfoy retorted with equal ease. "Weasel Boy seems to have found more willing company in Brown and everyone knows Potter's gone off the deep end."

"I would never want attention from a twisted, evil ferret like you," she shot him one last glare before turning to the front of the room. Thankfully Professor Vector had started passing out charts and diagrams.

-----

By the time class ended, Draco Malfoy had decided on a course of action. He shoved his parchment into his bag and quickly followed the witch as she tried to escape from the classroom.

"Off to the library, Granger?" he asked congenially as they sped down the hallway. The crowd thinned out along the way. Kids filtered off to return to their dorms or sped along to their next class. No one headed for the library, it being the middle of the day and no one being as manic as Granger.

"You're a quick study Malfoy," she replied and tried to pick up the pace. A backpack full of giant, ancient texts and short legs, however, kept her momentum to a minimum.

"I am a Slytherin," he shrugged. "So my brain cells pack a bit more punch than the pudding you Gryffindors possess." Malfoy was forced to jog for a bit to keep up. She sure could move.

"Hey, you managed to get your mind out of the gutter for half a second," she sniggered. "Congratulations."

"I figured you'd enjoy it," he smiled. "What, after the Peeping Tom act you pulled the other day." That got her to stop. She spun to face him, that crazy look in her eyes again.

"I was petrified, you horrible prat!" she shrieked, her words echoed down the empty corridors. Malfoy smirked and stepped towards the Gryffindor.

"Doesn't mean you didn't enjoy it," and then added with a whisper. "Among other things."

"Does mental illness run in your family, Malfoy?" Granger sneered and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I was never so disgusted in my entire life."

"That's not what a little bird told me," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, and tried really very hard not to break into an enormous smile. He took another step forward and looked right into her eyes. "And by bird, of course, I mean ghost."

He had never actually seen the color drain from a person before. Sure, he had seen quite a few scared people given that his father was a Death Eater and all, but they were already usually quite pasty when they turned up anyway. Working for the Dark Lord was not exactly a walk in a field of daisies.

Granger's face went from crimson with anger to sheet white in about half a second.

It was fantastic.

-----

Hermione swore her heart had leapt into her throat and was attempting to choke her. She couldn't breath, blood was pounding in her ears, her hands had gone clammy.

Moaning Myrtle had told.

She'd told Malfoy.

Malfoy!

CRAP!

And the ability to form words had escaped. All she could do was stand there like a fool, frozen to the spot. Her eyes locked open in shock, backpack straps digging into her shoulders, and Malfoy staring hard at her.

The flight or fight response that had been buried away finally managed to peek over the blockage of alarm that filled her system. Her head slowly began to shake back and forth as she backed away from the tall blonde boy.

But he followed. Each step she took back, he matched. She couldn't put any distance between herself and the Slytherin, and then she hit the wall. The hallway was empty and dead silent as Malfoy stepped up and lowered his mouth to her ear.

"Had to take care of it yourself, Granger?" he whispered. "Couldn't even get one of those Gryffindor lap dogs to give you a hand?" He punctuated his final word with a quick lick of her earlobe and a brush of his thumb over a nipple.

The contact finally broke Hermione out of her frozen state. She blinked hard and shoved Malfoy away from her. He laughed sharply as he took a few steps back. Hermione let her backpack slide to the floor and she pulled her wand out of her robes.

"Don't touch me," she said steadily, wand pointed straight at him and wiping her ear with her free hand. Where had that come from?

"Merlin, Granger, you're practically gagging for it," he laughed again.

Hermione's arm shook with anger as she watched Malfoy mock her. "Nullus Vox!" She shouted viciously as red steaks flew from the end of her wand. They flashed across the divide between her and Malfoy and wrapped tightly around his throat before vanishing.

He opened his mouth to respond and, to Hermione's undying glee, no noise came from it. His hand clasped his throat as his lips moved in a vain attempt to form words. He looked up at Hermione, cold eyes bore into her. She didn't need to hear what he had to say to know how he felt about the situation.

He wasn't exactly thrilled.

As Malfoy closed in, certain curse words forming on his lips but never making a sound, but she found herself in the unfortunate situation of not being able to move her feet. Again. She was moving in slow motion, turning to run, as everything around her sped up. Suddenly her wand was lying useless on the ground and Malfoy had pushed her up against the wall and stones were digging into her back. His fingers dug into her upper arms as he glared at her through the fringe of pale hair.

"Let me go," she demanded in low, cold tones. She saw the muscles in his jaw clench angrily as he just continued to stare down at her. "Now."

-----

It had all gone down hill really fast. He had just wanted to mess with her a bit before going to work. It hadn't even been all that malicious. Friendly schoolyard teasing, that's all. Friendly, of course, included a bit of groping which was all fine and dandy. But it was the look on her face after he announced what Myrtle had told him that was priceless. Granger loosing her composure was like a deer tripping during a hunt. He just had to move it quickly. It had been a brilliant time before she pulled out that damn wand.

Someone seriously needed to remove the pole from her ass.

And now he had snooty Hermione Granger up against the wall with no idea what he was going to do next. He hated that she had gotten the better of him. He didn't need to give Potter more reasons to tail him. The scene on the Hogwarts Express had been a bad idea, the power and excitement had gone to his head. But he couldn't just let her go. She'd attacked him and now there she stood with that all-too-Granger look on her face. Thinking she was smarter and quicker and stronger than him. Not giving him the pleasure of fighting against his hold, just expecting him to give in. But he wasn't the one that had run off to the bathroom to wank off after he'd had his hand up her skirt.

He'd gone to the Room of Requirement.

But that was beside the point.

She was the one who needed it. Weasel was too preoccupied with trying to figure out the clasp of Brown's bra to give her a second look. Potter was Potter and therefore had no sex because if Malfoy even thought about that idea he might actually be sick. Vomiting in the school hallway was most undignified and more than a bit disgusting.

Who else would touch her?

As it turned out, touching the Mudblood wasn't all that bad. He kind of enjoyed the feeling of her breasts rising and falling against his chest with the deep breaths she was taking. Not only did it give away the fear in her heart, but what teenage boy doesn't enjoy a nice pair of breasts. Granted, hers weren't spectacular, but there were still there.

"Malfoy," she said in a decisively warning tone, brown eyes hard as they looked up at him. He didn't like that at all. How dare she speak to him with any sort of tone. Who did she think she was? Someone needed to put her in her place, and who better than a Malfoy? He lowered his mouth to the side of her face again and felt her entire body stiffen against him. A smile played at the edge of his lips as he breathed into the Gryffindor's ear. There were so many things he was just dying to say at this moment.

"Stop," her voice demanded. "This isn't funny." His tongue flicked along the shell of her ear and Granger sucked in a shaky intake of air.

The Mudblood wasn't nearly as strong as she thought she was.

That's when she started to struggle, pushing his chest with the palms of her hands. She had good leverage, but he had the weight to keep her pinned. And as his hands skimmed down her sides to clutch her hips, Malfoy decided this was a fantastic idea. His mouth clamped onto her neck as he sucked and nipped his way back up to her ear. It really was a win-win situation. He'd get to feel up Granger's not-to-decidedly-horrible body, confuse the living daylights out of her, and royally piss off the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Nuisance and Freckles. Plus, he would be the guy who scored with goody-two-shoes Granger. He'd be a sex god. Screw the consequences.

Or screw Granger.

Whichever.

"Malfoy, what are you doing!" she sounded far more confused than scared. Part of him would have appreciated a little fear. But, he had no intention of hurting her. He wasn't about to force himself on her. Women were supposed to fight for the chance at a tumble between the sheets with a Malfoy. Hurting her, as tempting as it was, would lead to too many questions. Better to make her enjoy it, and then regret it horribly later.

But here was Granger, doing her best to put her shoulder in the way of his questing mouth. Then he found the spot he was looking for. That magical little place where neck met shoulder. The sweater and collared shirt made it a little awkward, but he reached it. Granger's clutching of his shoulders was enough to let him know that.

With that bit of incentive his hands crawled up under her jumper. While her breasts weren't much to look at, they were fantastic to hold. The cloth encased orbs prompted a strong reaction in his pants. But she wasn't relaxing, her hands had left his shoulders and were pulling at his wrists, trying to extract them from her sweater. That wouldn't do.

"I'll tell Harry," she warned. Of course she had to go and mention Potter. Way to kill the mood. His fingers found her nipples and gave a quick squeeze.

"Ow!" Granger smacked him across the face. Unpleasant memories of third year flashed through his mind and he rose to glare at her. She looked pissed as all hell and flushed to the tips of her ears. "Let me go, immediately," she growled through clenched teeth. Merlin, if she wasn't going to cooperate, this wasn't going to be any fun. He slowly slid his hands out of her jumper, gloomily retreating, and regarded her with a sneer.

"Don't touch me again, Malfoy," she warned as she stepped away from him and towards her wand. He watched her watching him as she crouched down to reach her wand. Her fingers closed around the smooth wood and a wave of comfort seemed to roll over her. Wand in hand, she regarded him with a hard gaze. "Cross me again and I can do worse than taking your voice."

Something inside him seemed to snap. There was that superior behavior again. A false sense of security made Granger slow, and vengeance made Malfoy fast. He grabbed the wrist of her wand hand and had her pinned back up against the wall.

-----

Strange things were happening in the abandoned corridor on the way to the library. First, Hermione was alone with Draco Malfoy, not something that usually happened. Second, Malfoy's hand was stroking her most private girly parts through her skirt, something that never happened. Third, she was enjoying it, something that should never be allowed to happen.

And he wasn't talking, which until that moment had seemed a universal impossibility.

"What did I just say?" Hermione pushed hard against Malfoy's shoulder with her left hand. But it really wasn't going that well. He was sucking on her neck, something she had thought looked amazingly disgusting when enacted by Ron and Lavender. But here, not so bad. Plus his hand was doing strange and magical things simply by stroking the junction of her thighs. She really should have been doing a better job of fighting him. The problem was she really didn't want him to stop what he was doing. But it was so wrong. It was dirty and gross.

It was Malfoy.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked incredulously. It's not everyday your mortal enemy has you pinned against a wall making you more aroused than you've been in your entire life. He had to have an alterior motive. Harry was always ranting about Malfoy being up to something. She just had to figure how getting into her pants played a part in it.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and cleared his throat as he poked at the crevice between her legs, indicating everything was pretty straight forward. She kept her legs clamped shut, but felt a bizarre desire to laugh. Why wasn't she more disgusted? Why wasn't she more scared? But she just wasn't scared of Malfoy.

Malfoy was like a Chihuahua. Loud and annoying, but pretty much harmless. Sure, he caused all sorts of trouble. But it was the sort of trouble you have with a little dog. He liked to bite at their heels, but there wasn't anything to fear from it. He could bare his teeth all he wanted, but Hermione was comfortable with the fact that she was smarter than him, always had been, always would be. And she was stronger. Magically, not physically of course. Working with the D.A. had taught her everything she needed to know to get out of this situation.

The problem was she didn't want out of the situation.

She didn't want him to stop.

"I just find it strange," Hermione continued quickly when she felt Malfoy start to lift her skirt up. "You being Malfoy, my arch nemesis and all." She stopped her nervous rambling when Malfoy rested his forehead on the wall and gave an irritated sigh.

"I suppose it's not something I should think too much about," she added sheepishly. Malfoy simply shook his head. And there was nothing spiteful to it, which was strange.

"But why?" she couldn't help but ask, becoming more and more distracted as his fingertips trailed up her naked thigh. Malfoy's smile took on a dark, menacing aspect as he caught her eyes with his and pressed his arousal against her hip.

"Oh," Hermione looked away as a blush crept up her face. Things had taken a very bizarre turn. Never in her wildest dreams had anything like this come up. She had figured Malfoy's teasing had been just that. But he was obviously interested in the situation they were in. With her, a Mudblood. Merlin, he was probably some crazed sex fiend. Hermione's head snapped up at the thought.

Sex? Hell no. Her hand flew downward and cut Malfoy off at the pass. He looked bitterly disappointed, like a child whose toy had been taken away.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Malfoy," she looked at him with narrowed eyes. "If you think that this," she motioned towards the general vicinity of her crotch and his hand. "will get you some action, you are sorely mistaken. And no blow jobs. My name isn't Pansy Parkinson." An even more downtrodden look crossed his face, but Malfoy nodded. Then he raised his eyebrows, silently asking for permission. She felt her cheeks turn pink.

"Proceed then."

-----

Proceed? Leave it to Hermione Granger to turn everything into a twisted scientific process. Nevertheless, Malfoy continued on his merry way. Not that he knew what exactly he was doing. Well, he knew about the physical aspect (enough with the science terminology), it was the subject (Merlin, now he was doing it) that was the problem.

What exactly was he doing with his hand up Mudblood Gryffindor Hermione Granger's skirt?

For the second time?

If only his father could see him now.

Not that anything in the world could stop him now. If he had thought the scene in the infirmary was erotic, this was Order of Merlin-type erotic. His fingers trailed lightly over the thin fabric of the girl's underwear. They were slightly damp, but soft, cotton probably. He had no idea about the color. He couldn't take his eyes off Hermione Granger's face.

She'd hooked a leg around his calf, granting him easier access, and making it even more difficult to fight the building desire to grind into exactly the spot he wanted to be. Her small little fists clenched his Slytherin sweater as she stared back at him. A bizarre blend of determinacy, confusion, and annoyance filled her eyes.

It was perfectly Granger.

The situation in his pants was really becoming unbearable.

He stared into her big, brown eyes, fascinated by every nuance of emotion that flicked across them as he pushed aside the cover of cotton. The slight hint of arousal she finally let creep into her countenance was fantastic. He breathed in the air she exhaled in a little 'oh' as his fingers played in her curls. Fingers slipped through her slick folds until they reached her center. Working them in and out, he watched her lips trembled as she panted. He reveled in the rise of her chest and the sheen of sweat that coated her skin. A smile spread across his features as their eyes locked and hers were glazed over in desire with and a tinge of resentment. Knowing that he had broken down her walls and elicited this reaction gave him an odd feeling of accomplishment.

Being with Pansy had been so easy; it was like running a marathon with this one. But he wasn't about to let her lack of sex drive win. At least she had one. He was committed beating this test. Finding that one little bundle of nerves was the key. She didn't fall apart at his hands, but her hips did buck against his palm. After that she started to meet him stroke for stroke, happy little squeaks accompanying each little movement.

At some point, Malfoy realized he was dry humping the girl's hip, like a mutt, in time with the thrusts of his fingers. No matter how shameful the motion was, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He ground his crotch into her as he cursed awful things into her ear, disgusting things that only came out as deep, angry pants against her neck. And he hoped she couldn't feel or didn't think too much about the warm spot he sported on his trousers after an embarrassingly short amount of time.

She didn't come with a shriek, shout, or yodel, as Pansy often did. Rather, it was a slow, perfect buildup of pants and gentle breaths into a soft, mewling cry. Her leg pulled him closer as her eyes closed and head fell back against the stone. It was incredible.

He had to be going crazy.

-----

Hermione thanked the heavens that Malfoy couldn't talk. She really had no desire to hear whatever snide comment he was probably bristling to say. But he just turned silently, which was a given, to leave breaking the eye contact that had bored into her for so long. He'd won; she'd given in. How could she face Harry and Ron, now? How could she face herself?

What had she been thinking!

Granted, it was the lack of thinking that had been the problem. Hermione was not one to be driven by her hormones. She didn't even usually feel anything in that region, nor did she particularly care too. Girls were too stupid about things like that. But apparently she was more than willing to succumb to her primal desires. She'd had her first orgasm… at the hands of Draco Malfoy.

It could have been anyone else. Anyone else. And it would have been better than this. Why Malfoy? Had it been the inherent wrongness of the situation that had gotten her? Did she like the danger, the fear? Was she really that twisted? Weren't you supposed to love someone for them to have that effect on you? Was she a depraved sex-fiend deep down?

It hadn't been this way with Viktor. They'd engaged in more than a few heavy petting sessions, but she had never felt this way before. Viktor had treated her like a goddess, worshipped the ground she walked on, and never did anything she didn't want to do. No coercion, no pressure, he just wanted to please her. She'd cared for him dearly, adored his kisses and admiration. She felt so beautiful and desirable when she was with him. The problem was she just never wanted him. Hermione had foolishly thought that taking the final plunge would strengthen the relationship. Maybe it would spark the love she knew she was supposed to have for such a wonderful person.

That had been an unmitigated disaster.

Just because Viktor wasn't a virgin didn't mean he had any more of a clue as to what to do. His first time had been a result of a drunken hook-up after a Quidditch win, not exactly memorable or helpful. Their attempt had been doomed from the start. Oh, the wonders of teenage love making. First there was the difficulty and embarrassment of undressing, add in some sloppy foreplay and the inherent discomfort of a first time: you have yourself a recipe for all kinds of awkward.

Viktor having more than enough trouble finding his way in didn't help the atmosphere either. She'd been too dry, he'd been too ashamed. The only pleasure she'd felt was in knowing that Viktor had gotten off eventually. She smiled and comforted him, but her words fell on deaf ears. She woke up the next morning sore and unfulfilled. And she knew that being with Viktor was no longer an option. Pretending there was something there made her feel guilty and mean. That and her unhealthy attachment to Ron and his stupidity forced her to end the relationship.

She'd waited a few days, to minimize the stripping of his masculinity the break-up would cause.

It still hadn't gone over well.

Being with Malfoy had been so decidedly different. What really bothered Hermione the most was that he never kissed her. He'd touched her in the most private areas, fucked her with his fingers, came against her thigh, but hadn't once touched her lips. Hadn't even come close. She'd been an object, never a person. That had been made unmistakably clear. It had been one of the most intimate experiences of her life and left her achingly empty and dirty.

She'd never felt anything like it. His hand in her crotch, teasing and pumping, had been heaven. She'd done her best to keep the noise to a minimum, not wanting to disgust him. But she still feared the pants and grunts that escaped her lips had made her seem pathetic and filthy. The orgasm was beyond words. She'd never even dreamed something could feel like that, sending currents of pleasure and contentment all the way to her fingertips. And she knew there could be more. As she watched Malfoy quickly exit the hallway she felt her nether regions quake.

Hermione hadn't signed up for this. She knew in the back of her mind this had all started as a ploy to make Ron jealous. Not that she'd ever tell him. But she would always know. It would be a secret she could carry around and hold over him. If he could get Lavender, she could get someone too. She didn't need Ronald Weasley. Hermione Granger could find anyone else, even Malfoy.

The trouble was, she wanted to do it again. She wanted to do more. She hating being the stereotypical girl that fell for the bad boy. Hermione was smarter than that.

But, Merlin help her, she wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy.


	4. A Bad Breakout of Acne

**_Chapter Four: A Bad Breakout of Acne_**

Well, that had been beyond bizarre.

Malfoy headed straight for the Prefect's bathroom. Thanking all that was good and kind in the world that it was empty, he stepped up to the sink and started scrubbing his hands. His hand was covered, infested, contaminated, with horribly, stinky, awful Mudblood juices. He had to get them off, get them away. Wash them down the sink and out of his life forever. He needed to erase all existence of that ever having happened.

Then he remembered to also charm away the telling stain on his pants. That might help.

It was no good. He could still feel her on his hand, writhing against his palm as he fingered her. As he pleasured her. As he, a Malfoy, a pureblood, got off a dirty Muggle-born with no thought for his own needs. If he was any real man he would have just fucked her against the wall, dry and crying, but still wanting him like the Mudblood whore she was. That would have shown her who was superior. That would have shut her up.

Maybe that would have squelched the slow burning need for her that had gathered in his stomach.

Merlin she had been beautiful.

Ugh, gross.

What he needed was to find a nice, pureblood witch and screw the living daylights out of her. But coupling with a new girl would lead to all sorts of problems. The easy ones, like Daphne Greengrass, he didn't want to touch, because they'd all at some point slept with a Hufflepuff. Draco Malfoy picking up Hufflepuff leftovers? No thanks, don't think so. With the others, like Tracey Davis, it involved flowers and flirting and crap like that. And he was just so tired of Pansy. Granger had been so much more dignified and sexy than Pansy could ever hope to be. She really was the brightest witch he knew. Even fighting with her was more stimulating than the best sex with Pansy.

What was he talking about!

Something had to be done about this renegade train of thought. He had to curb this trend. He had to cut it off the head of the beast. Divide and conquer. He had to do everything that every cliché phrase said to do to make him stop this ridiculous fixation on Hermione Granger.

If he could wipe her off the face of the planet, that would be great. But alas, that would probably draw too much attention, even if no one should care about the life of a stupid Mudblood. Ditto for maiming her, or otherwise relegating her to the hospital wing. He needed something to disfigure her, so he wouldn't feel any attraction what-so-ever to her soft, supple form-

What? Where did that come from? That needed to stop immediately…

Whatever spell he decided on needed to be something that would shame her so much she wouldn't set one foot out of her dorm. Not even to go down to the hospital wing.

For embarrassment spells, he went to Millicent Bulstrode. She was all too experienced in the art of making people's lives miserable. She had also been, not that he would admit it to anyone and didn't like to admit it himself, his first. That had been a very… physical encounter.

And painful.

Very, very painful.

Whatever malfunction that had occurred to make him think that had been a good idea luckily never repeated itself. Malfoy, however, never indulged too heavily in fire whiskey after that night though, just in case.

Merlin, that had been painful.

Millicent was mean, and terribly sadistic. It wasn't a good combination in a lover, but made her an excellent resource for a time like this. He approached her solitary corner of the Slytherin Common Room cautiously, not wanting to draw the attention of his housemates.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked irritably, not looking up from her book, which, it just so happened, featured full-color pictures of Medieval torture devices. Lovely.

Seriously, he had thought she was trying to crush his ribs with her thighs to make her dinner. Try explaining those bruised ribs to Madame Pomfrey.

"I want to ask you opinion," he drawled offhandedly.

"Oh really," she looked up and blinked slowly. "Regarding what, exactly?"

"The best spell for embarrassing somebody," he shifted his weight to one leg in carefully measured detachment. "Facial disfigurement, to be specific." She watched him with a cool, even gaze for a moment, then closed her book.

"Male or Female?" she re-crossed her legs and relaxed back into the leather chair that no one below sixth year dared to even touch.

"It's a girl."

"What house?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" he retorted in warning, knowing she was digging around for gossip.

"Fine, fine," she smiled weakly. "Can you tell me whether or not she's a Slytherin? That will affect my decision."

"Not Slytherin," Malfoy replied shortly.

"Well then, she's not going to be that tough, is she?" Millicent smirked. Malfoy had to nod. "But I don't suppose you want something that's going to attract too much attention, correct?" Again, he nodded. Everyone who mattered in Slytherin knew he was on assignment and couldn't have attention drawn to him. "The answer is simple, Malfoy. I'm surprised you didn't come up with it yourself."

"Humor me, Bulstrode."

"Rufus Punctum," she said, and picked her book back up.

"What is that?"

"A pimple charm."

"Pimples?" Malfoy was incredulous. How were a few red spots going to stem the need to hump Granger's brains out?

"You've never seen pimples like this before," Millicent's smirk broke into a full-fledged maniacal grin. "Pritchard! Come here!" The fourth year jumped at the sound of his name being called, nearly upsetting the Wizard's Chess board. He looked around like a frightened mouse as he slowly walked towards the large sixth year girl. "Faster!" she boomed. He tripped over his own feet as he fell into a run and came to a panicked stop next to Malfoy.

"Rufus Punctum!" Millicent announced without pause from her comfortable seat. A sickly yellow spell flew from her wand and coated Pritchard's face. The boy shrieked most effeminately and covered his face with his hands. When the spell dissipated, Millicent ordered him to lower them. Reluctantly, he complied.

Malfoy was definitely not disappointed.

These were not any normal blemishes. They were huge, each the size of about five normal pimples put together. And they were everywhere. Graham Pritchard's face had been transformed into a giant pimple with eyes. His skin was so red he practically glowed.

"It hurts!" he sobbed and gingerly touched one of the horrendous bumps.

"Don't be such a child," Millicent waved him away. Malfoy couldn't contain his laughter as the boy scrambled up the stairs to his dormitory.

"It's perfect," Malfoy managed to say once his chuckles had subsided. Millicent now sported an utterly pleased expression, the proverbial cat who got the canary. It was hungry looking, and scary. "But how long does it last?"

"The quickest I've seen Pomfrey clear it up is three days," she replied matter-of-factly. But sometimes the ingredients for the cure aren't always available and she has to owl for them." Even Granger, who hardly cared two licks about her appearance, wouldn't set foot outside of her dormitory for days. Maybe that would be enough time for him to shake this sickness.

"Thanks," Malfoy replied simply.

"It's my pleasure to make the lives of those outside Slytherin a living hell," she shrugged and opened her book back up. After a pause, she looked back up at Malfoy. "Can't you tell me who it is?"

"Hopefully the results will be apparent to the entire school for days," he smirked.

-----

It really wasn't fair, Hermione thought as she examined her reflection in the window. Angry red bumps covered her face. All she had done was taken away his voice. It wasn't even permanent. She hadn't turned him into a mountain troll or something equally horrific. Yet he'd gone and done this. She looked more awful than Eloise Midgen on her worst days.

Malfoy really must be despised with himself. Any normal person would have just avoided her, avoided any memory of the incident. But not Draco Malfoy. That boy could hold the most ridiculous grudge. It's not like she had forced him to do anything! But, his little in-bred mind was so twisted there was probably no chance of explaining that to him.

Luckily, he hadn't gotten her alone until Friday after classes. He'd been so unassuming, asking if they could talk, a slight blush on his pale cheeks. It was the oddity of the situation that didn't allow her to plan for it. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that Draco Malfoy would track her down for a 'chat' about 'that.' Hermione couldn't stop kicking herself for falling for it and following the blonde devil down a rarely used hallway. Then he'd sprung his evil little trap and left her dumbfounded, angry, and with a face full of zits.

She really had to get better about this 'walking down dark corridors alone' thing. It had gotten her into quite a few bits of trouble recently, without even the help of Harry and Ron. Madame Pomfrey had promised her face would be cleared up to something passable by Monday morning though. All teenagers got pimples, she tried to tell Hermione. No one will care about a few here or there.

Hermione hoped a 'few' was considerably less than the half a million invading her face at the current moment. And really, it was quite embarrassing having Draco Malfoy get the better of you in a duel. That was partly the reason she hadn't told anyone about her ailment, that and the festering puss bulbs growing out of her face.

Thank goodness Malfoy's sneak attack happened on a weekend. She could easily hide from all forms of life on the weekend. She already sat by herself at meals, so she would hardly be missed if she stopped going at all. The house elves had been kind enough to agree to bring her meals to her dorm room, as long as she agreed to not try and sneak them any clothes. Other than that, she just had to leave her dorm early and come back once the lights were out. Everyone knew Hermione went to the library to study on the weekends. She'd just increased the time frame a little.

Friday and Saturday had gone off without a hitch. Lavender had decided recently to avoid all verbal and visual communication, so the sneaking part was made easier. And by Sunday, the pimples had really started to make a noticeable retreat from her face. So, with a light step and some smuggled scones in her backpack, Hermione had set off for the library.

Madame Pince had begrudgingly allowed Hermione to take her studying into the Restricted Section, but warned that she would check the validity of the pass with Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster, just as she had threatened for the past two days. Hermione smiled sweetly, as best she could with a face made out of bumps, and headed for the most hidden table she could find. By mid-morning she had made considerable progress in her extra Potions work. She was sick of Harry and his stupid book always getting the better of her.

Hermione had nearly forgotten about the spell that had ravaged her face when she set off into the stacks for a reference book. She softly crept out into the main area of the library, checked that the coast was clear, and climbed a ladder to reach the desired shelf. At that point, of course, she heard someone approach. Cursing her bad luck, she continued facing the books, willing them to keep walking. But whoever it was just stood there. Hermione peeked warily out of the corner of her eye to find her least favorite person standing at the base of the ladder. She suppressed the desire to kick Draco Malfoy in the face as he stood there smirking up at her.

-----

Everything had been sunshine and lollipops Friday and Saturday. Granger had missed every meal since Friday's lunch. It was wonderful not having the reminder of how weak he was sitting across the Great Hall from him, taunting him. Unfortunately, getting rid of her physical presence hadn't solved everything. He kept flashing back to that dark hallway and the look on her face, that utterly perfect look of contentment. He had wanted to kiss her with his entire being at that point. It had taken all the effort in the world to pull away coldly and retreat down the hallway. He had to get out of there for his own sake, to preserve some part of his sanity.

Malfoy had considered himself safe from the alluring sight of Hermione Granger for the remainder of the weekend. All he had wanted was to pick up a few books on magical cabinetry. He wasn't even looking for trouble. What he found, regardless, was a witch in old faded jeans that hugged her slight curves. She really did have a cute little butt. There she stood, gloriously stretched against the top of a ladder, hair a brunette halo of beauty and purity shining in the daylight.

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the embarrassingly sappy imagery and verse. He opened them only to be drawn to the upper half of the girl clad in a dark green sweater. Malfoy quickly came to the realization that Muggle clothes were fantastic and all the girls should be wearing them. Especially if they exposed smooth midriffs on a regular basis, as Granger was demonstrating at the moment while reaching for a book. What was she thinking hiding that great frame under a damn robe everyday? And the wool skirts? Totally wouldn't cut it after this moment

"Something I can help you with, Malfoy?" Granger snapped. Malfoy blinked and tilted his head up to meet her eyes.

Holy hell!

"Skin troubles, Granger?" he somehow managed to say and not break in to complete hysterics.

"You're a regular comedic genius, Malfoy," Granger rolled her eyes and started to step back down the ladder. Despite the deplorable state of her face, Malfoy found himself smiling as he watched her appreciatively. "What do you want?"

"I came to see you of course," he immediately broke into a sneer and leant against a bookshelf. It was much easier to talk with her when she looked so ridiculous. But even as he said them, he knew his taunts walked a fine line with flirtation. It made him a little sick, but he couldn't stop. "I enjoy the quality time we have together."

"Again with the humor," Granger smiled derisively and turned to face him. Wow, he wished he could have seen the full effects of the spell. Even after a couple days of treatment, the pimples were still spectacular!

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

"I was a fool to think that before. I'd be a complete moron to fall for it now. Don't think you can try another spell. Madam Pince will have your head if you pull anything in the library," Granger hugged her book tightly and looked down the aisle behind him, searching for the crazed librarian.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I will get you back for this," Granger pointed sternly at a zit. "Don't you worry."

"It's not my fault Mudbloods don't know how to wash," Draco shrugged. "You really should give it a try." Granger took a deep breath. He could practically feel the rage emanating off of her.

"My personal hygiene has nothing to do with this. It's not my fault you attacked me in the hallway."

"It's not my fault you can't keep your legs closed!"

Granger blushed fiercely, even behind the mask of red bumps, her skin glowed scarlet. "I wasn't talking about that, Malfoy!" she whispered fiercely, her eyes frantically searched for anyone in hearing distance.

"Good, don't ever talk about it," Malfoy barked, not believing he actually brought up the topic. "I've tried to Obliviate it from my mind."

Or replay it every fifteen minutes. Same difference, really.

"You started the whole thing!" she practically shrieked. Surprised at her own volume, Granger whispered the next line. "I tried to get away."

"Yeah, you tried really hard," Malfoy scoffed.

"I can't believe I let a slimy little ferret like you touch me," she growled and turned on her heel. "You can be sure that will never happen again."

Malfoy didn't realize he was moving until he'd wrapped his arms around Granger's waist, pulled her close, and heard her book hitting the floor with a thud. He could touch her all her wanted. She was the Muggle-born, not him. He deserved a pretty witch, especially after having wrestled with that damn dresser all morning.

He nuzzled against her neck and breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. It was like rain and freshly trimmed grass. Clean and pure, everything he knew she wasn't. But having her warm little body pressed up against him was enough to let him forget her shortcomings.

Shortcomings? What shortcomings? He found it hard to think straight with her scent swirling around in his head and her soft sweater at his fingertips.

The moment was entirely ruined by her clawing away at his hands, trying to escape.

-----

She was at a complete loss as to what to do. This really hadn't been in the cards. Hermione considered for a moment the possibility of Malfoy having gone insane. This was possible. Consider, for a moment, Lucius Malfoy. Not exactly what you would call 'stable.' And he wasn't in the running for "Best Father of the Year" as far as Hermione was aware.

"Malfoy," Hermione tried to peel his fingers from her waist. "You attacked me for this just a couple days ago."

"So?"

"I know you hate me," she loathed how her voice slightly cracked at this. What did she care that Malfoy hated her? She was so tired of his games. "What makes you think I want any part in this?"

"Because you like it," he purred into her ear and dropped a soft kiss to the back of her neck. A little shiver ran up her spine. No one had kissed her there before. "You filthy little Mudblood."

"I don't want to be with a person who hates me," she retched herself out of his grasp. As quickly as she escaped he had her back in his arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" Malfoy whispered into her ear and pressed his fingers against the v of her legs.

"Away from you," Hermione replied dangerously and prepared to escape when she felt his other hand creep up her sweater. "What are you doing?" she couldn't help but laugh.

"I thought that was pretty obvious," Malfoy replied and made an affronted noise. Hermione giggled, his former words forgotten for the moment, as his hand came to lie on right breast. "What's so funny?"

Viktor hadn't understood Hermione's uncharacteristic outburst either.

"It's not exactly funny-," a new fit of giggles interrupted her speech as an irritated Malfoy moved his other hand to rest on her stomach. "I mean, if all guys to that."

"Do what?" his voice edged with annoyance, and a hint of doubt.

"You know, touch a girl's… breasts," Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing again.

"Are you serious, Granger?"

Hermione rested her forehead on the side of the ladder in front of her, trying to compose her thoughts. "So all guys do it then?" She'd never had the guts to ask Harry and Ron. They would probably be scarred for life if she had. But at this point, what was the harm in asking Malfoy?

"Of course," Malfoy laughed amiably, and squeezed with his right hand to emphasis his point. Hermione liked the way his chest rumbled against her back when he chuckled.

"I just don't understand 'why' though," Hermione smiled as she felt her cheeks warm. "I mean, you know what they're for, right?"

"Of course. What do you take me for, Granger?" she could feel him smile against the back of her neck. "Girls like the way it feels."

"Really?"

"As far as I'm aware."

"Oh," Hermione pondered this new information. Viktor's attentions to her breasts never led to any arousal on her part. She actually thought it looked quite funny, a full grown man sucking on her nipple. "What's the fascination men have with them, though?"

"Why am I having this conversation?"

"I've just never understood the attraction, that's all."

"Well, you walk around with them all day."

"You walk around with…that," Hermione trailed off, not at all wanting to complete the sentence. Not believing she'd actually started it in the first place. "And I have no desire to fondle 'that' all the time."

"What?" she heard Malfoy laugh again.

"You know," Hermione closed her eyes, willing the conversation to take a new direction. But Malfoy persisted.

"I'm not a Legilimens, Granger," he responded and gave a playful nip to her throat.

"You know," Hermione repeated softly, face red with embarrassment. She gingerly reached a hand behind her and traced her fingers along the front of Malfoy's pants. Touching the subject of the conversation directly was impossible, as it was pushed fully against her backside. The hardness against the crack of her butt was actually quite distracting and not all together unpleasant.

"Fuck, Granger," her name rumbled deep in his throat. Hermione was heady with his touch. She found herself grasping the rungs of the library ladder with white knuckles as he pushed roughly against her. It was awful. She knew how entirely wrong the situation was, but she craved the attention Malfoy was giving her. With Harry and Ron she had always been the odd man out. But she'd realized this and really hadn't minded being pushed to the wayside. They were her boys, she loved them with all her heart. And working in the background had its advantages. She wasn't looking for recognition. But to have the sheer animal desire of Draco Malfoy focused on her was too intoxicating to pass up.

"We should stop," she said, just because she knew that's what she was supposed to say. Malfoy paid her no heed as he removed his hand from her breast and brought it around to her back. With thumb and forefinger on either side he ran his hand slowly up her spine. Hermione couldn't hold in a little sigh of contentment as thin little ribbons of pleasure spread out from his gentle fingers. They wound their way through her body before centering where his other hand was pressed against her jeans.

Malfoy kissed her neck, and she didn't protest when he flicked open the button and pulled down the zipper of her pants. She was really all too happy to have his hand that much closer to the pooling molten desire at her center. Hoping to express encouragement, she ground her ass against his groin. She smiled when she heard him give a muffled groan. His hand quickly traveled from making delicate tracings of her spine, to pulling her butt even more firmly against his rolling hips.

He was responding to her. It was amazing. Hermione couldn't stop herself as she turned her head to capture Malfoy's mouth in a kiss. Before she even came close, he had extracted his hands and pushed her away. A look of revulsion twisted his pale features.

A violent feeling of rejection immediately jolted Hermione. Realization of what had happened, what could have happened, and what she had wanted to happen hit her like a rampaging mountain troll.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she snapped out irritably, all her frustrations spewing out of her mouth. "What are you even doing here?"

"Doing some research," Malfoy narrowed his eyes and grabbed a book blindly off the shelf. "Not that I have to explain myself to you."

"Just get out of here Malfoy," Hermione replied sharply. She realized with no little amount of embarrassment that her fly was open and quickly remedied the situation. "I don't want to deal with you and your immaturity right now."

"I don't want to deal with your face right now. Or ever."

"Then go find someone else to bother," she growled. "Like Parkinson, though I doubt she's ever set foot inside the library. Does she even know what one is?"

"Shove off, Granger," Malfoy sneered.

"You first, you little ferret."

"I have a right to be here, just like you have the right to look like an old hag."

"And I have a right to my own personal space, just like you have the right to be an enormous git." Malfoy didn't even spare her a final glare when he turned and quickly exited the library.

Well, that could have gone better.


	5. A Dangerous Instance of Alcohol Poisong

**_Chapter Five: A Dangerous Instance of Alcohol Poisoning _**

It really wasn't Draco Malfoy's fault that he was driven to drink. Malfoys were supposed to remain in complete control of their bodies, after all. But when the entire world is against you, it's a little difficult not to seek comfort in a bottle of firewhiskey. He wasn't nearly drunk enough thanks to Crabbe, Goyle, and various other housemates helping themselves to his alcohol cabinet.

Their private holiday party had left the dorm room in utter ruin. Luckily, the group of intoxicated Slytherins had gone off to crash some Ravenclaw gathering, so he didn't have to kill them all immediately. Malfoy had been forced to mix the dregs found at the bottoms of the various bottles strewn across the floor into some absolutely horrendous potion. Firewhiskey, Death Eater Scotch, and who knows what else burned a trail down his throat but curled pleasantly around in his stomach. A soft, warm shiver of alcohol filled his system and he took another healthy gulp from his bottle of swill.

Malfoy angrily kicked a spare robe of Goyle's into the fireplace and watched it burn with an angry scowl. He was sick of continually living in the filth his roommates created. Not even an army of house elves could keep up with those two pigs. He was furious that they had spent the entire day celebrating, making an obscene mess, and having an all around brilliant time, while he'd been holed up in the Room of Requirement.

Casting an engorgement charm on their brains wouldn't bother them since there wasn't anything there to begin with. But being idiots had freed them from any responsibilities. They got to go on living their carefree lives, trashing his room, and drinking his booze. Whereas, Malfoy got to sit on his bed, which was covered in ashes from cigarettes and blunts, alone, and drinking a beverage that should be outlawed. He threw one of Crabbe's soiled robes in the fire for good measure.

He was acting like a child, but couldn't bring himself to care. Everything that was good in his life had taken a back seat to a cause that, honestly, he had started to question. It was all fun and games, acting like a big man making threats to shriveled shopkeepers and gloating to impress pretty girls. But as the deadline approached the amusement and pride he'd felt started to dry up. The subtle threats made regarding his family began to surface in his memory. Playing Quidditch, drinking with his friends, hell, even going to class felt like distant memories.

Being locked up in that damn room was starting to drive him crazy.

With bottle in hand, Malfoy approached the full length mirror next to his bed. He could hardly stand to look at himself. He'd gotten over his cold a long time ago, just as Madame Pomfrey had predicted, but he looked worse than he ever had before. Once the picture of elegance and poise, a near replica of his father, he wasn't even a shadow of his former self. His school robes looked no better than his roommates, shirt un-tucked and stained, and pants wrinkled. His pale face had grown ashen and hollow; his eyes were sunken and rimmed with dark circles. He couldn't help but scoff at himself for looking even worse than Granger had after Turgida Luminis and Rufus Punctum.

Granger.

He hadn't hardly seen, let alone touched her, since the incident in the library. That had been nearly two months ago. After the Katie Bell fiasco and a tiny breakthrough with the cabinet, Malfoy had to step up his work. Dumbledore may be the craziest wizard on the planet, but he wasn't stupid. Malfoy couldn't deny that he was far from it. Granger, along with Quidditch, was a distraction that he'd had to let fall by the wayside.

Luckily, it had been easy. She'd avoided him like the plague since the library. He'd told himself this was a good thing. She'd been invading his brain with her Mudblood impurities. But everything he told himself and the loyalty he tried to feel towards his cause didn't stop the dreams he had, when he wasn't so tired he didn't remember his dreams, involving her. Dreams that would usually end in an early morning erection and a quick, hidden wank.

He had tried to write it all off as general sexual frustration. Interactions with the opposite sex had started to take a nosedive around Halloween. Too much work and not enough energy didn't leave much time for sexual escapades. Pansy still offered her services, knowing he was too tired for much else and hoping to secure a future involving Malfoy Manor.

While he'd accepted a few times in the beginning, because it offered something close to companionship, he grew tired of it and her. Besides, Pansy was screwing Nott on the side. Just because he was busy didn't mean he didn't keep up with the inner-workings of his house. He didn't blame her entirely. He knew Pansy was a very sexually active girl. And he certainly wasn't monogamous so why should she be held to such standards. They'd never promised each other anything. Of course, that didn't keep him from transfiguring her dinner into a live squid.

There had been a couple unfulfilling shags with Daphne Greengrass on all fours in the Quidditch changing room. But Malfoy suspected the smell of leather soap had more to do with his climax than her shaven twat. That and she had dark curly hair.

Plenty of pureblood wizards have a kink for Mudbloods, it wasn't that odd. Really.

-----

Cormac McLaggen was her date to the Christmas party. Cormac Freaking McLaggen. A Mandrake's cry held more appeal than listening to another second of his incessant bragging. Hermione wished for a moment that she played Quidditch so she could blame a bludger to the head for this horrible lapse in judgment. Then she could make a graceful exit out of the hell she currently occupied. She'd never felt so foolish, not only in agreeing to accompany Cormac, but for the way she behaved in front of Ron. It had been a ridiculous spectacle, announcing to the entire house her plans for the Slug Club party. She was acting no better than Lavender. Hermione tried to backtrack and find the exact moment that she had traded in all of her perfectly good common sense for the unstable jealousy and resentment of a self-absorbed teenage girl.

It occurred to her that it was a matter of self-preservation. It served to throw the dog off the scent, in the case of Lavender. Her roommate had become quite erratic over the course of the semester, convinced that Hermione was out to steal Ron from her. Granted, Lavender's insecurities weren't only directed at her. Even Parvati had fallen victim to Lavender's rage more than once. Lavender, however, saved the scathing remarks regarding her best friend for the dorm room. There she would lay into Parvati about her hair, makeup, and short skirt all aiming at drawing Ron's attention. Despite Parvati's insistence that it was simply not true, Lavender watched her with just as critical an eye as she did Hermione and any other girl to ever cross Ron's path.

Lavender was simply more vocal about her objections regarding Hermione. Hermione knew she was the biggest, and easiest target. Having been Ron's friend for the past five years did create the illusion that Hermione was a threat. But in all reality, Hermione was trying her very best to distance herself from Ron. The efforts were apparently working as Lavender had, for the most part, retracted her claws.

But no matter how much space she put between herself and Ron by eating alone and studying elsewhere, nothing seemed to help. Hermione's heart ached everytime she saw Ron and Lavender wrapped around each other in the Common Room. And it damn near broke in half when they would sneak up to the boy's dormitory.

Like a moron she had actually thought making him jealous would be the answer. Go to the Christmas Party with they guy he can't stand, that no one can stand. Yeah, that had been a brilliant idea. One of the best Hermione ever had. It was juvenile and stupid and, big surprise, didn't work. Sure, Ron had been angry but he hadn't broken up with Lavender. If anything, Hermione had just driven him further away.

So, Hermione took her punishment like a man and listened dutifully as Cormac continued to list his numerous qualities.

She kind of wanted to Avada Kedavra herself at the moment.

This was, she had to admit, a step up from Malfoy. How could she have ever thought an affair with Draco Malfoy was a good idea? Her brain must have gone on vacation for a few weeks. She'd tried to wipe the entire series of events involving Draco Malfoy from her mind. It wasn't good to dwell on (horrible) past mistakes.

Hermione knew she had a physical attraction to Malfoy. He was mean, conceited, and dangerous. He had always been the pale, evil child she despised. Any girl in her right mind would steer clear of the quagmire that was Draco Malfoy. It was all so horribly cliché: falling for the bad boy. She didn't even like him. But, Hermione had apparently become a raving lunatic air-headed whore, so she couldn't get her mind off him.

He was so unlike Ron and Harry, the two boys, the two people, she had ever been closest too. She'd slowly fallen in love with Ron over the course of their time at Hogwarts. Though he could drive her to madness at times, she adored his all-too-Gryffindor pride and courage. She admired how he could wear his heart on his sleeve, sometimes with troublesome consequences, but would always recover. Hermione didn't know how or when it happened, but she found his goofy smile undeniable.

Lavender wasn't at fault for the mess of their relationship. It wasn't fair to blame the girl for something Ron had wanted, something he'd gone looking for. Ron had strong emotions, anger and vengeance often playing a leading role. Hermione assumed at this point that all interactions with Ron would end in heartache. Together they were just too much. Too much strength, too much will power, too much stubbornness.

Perhaps it was doomed from the beginning. Perhaps Hermione had lost hope after that first kiss between him and Lavender and never even realized it.

Perhaps that's why she'd sought out someone so entirely not-Ron.

Cormac asked her if she wanted some more punch, and a sob shook Hermione's body as she was pulled out of her thoughts. She nodded, lips quivering, which Cormac didn't notice as he turned to find the refreshments table. Suddenly the room became entirely too small with entirely too many people. Everyone was chatting and laughing, clinking glasses and holding hands. Hermione had to get out of there. She grabbed Melinda Bobbin's date's bottle of smuggled butterbeer on her way out, much to his dismay, and took a healthy gulp.

The fresh air of the hallway offered Hermione a well needed respite. The cool stone of the wall soothed her burning cheeks as she lay heavily against it. She held the slightly warm bottle, for it had been snuck in under his robes, to her forehead and then took another sip. Knowing she had to clean herself up, Hermione headed towards the nearest washroom. The sounds of the party slowly drifted away as she distanced herself from the merriment.

After another substantial taste of the butterbeer Hermione wished she could have grabbed something stronger. Not that she made a habit of drinking; butterbeer was just so damn sweet. It's hard to drink away your sorrows when you are worried about your teeth falling out of your head. That's just how you think when you grow up with two dentists.

That's when the figure of Draco Malfoy appeared around the corner. Really, was the universe trying to punish her? Let's relive all of Hermione Granger's mistakes in the next half hour, it'll be too much fun. Another drink.

"Granger," he said simply as he approached her, large clear bottle in tote. Hermione watched him closely, knowing they had left things awkward and unfinished that day in the library and wanting to close the door on that section of her life. Lock it, barricade it, and move on.

"Malfoy," she replied with equally cool tones. As he drew closer she couldn't help but gape in mild shock. This was the first time she had seen Malfoy close up for ages; she now saw that Malfoy had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.

In the distance she heard glass shattering against the floor, tinkling away across the stone. Shards from her bottle lay with Malfoy's, forgotten. Because he had her in his arms and was pressing his lips, his entire body, against hers. And wasn't that what really mattered?

-----

Granger's lips tasted like toffee. They were sweet and sticky and warm. And her hair smelled like holly, if holly even had a scent. Malfoy couldn't remember. He just knew that the silky mass of curls under his palm smelled of holidays and family and laughter. He missed his old life, the privileged child of a prominent man. A life where if he had the whim he could go find out what holly smelled like.

She was everything he wanted, and everything he hated. She represented all of the silly little parts of life he thought he could go with out: frivolous things like chatting by the fire, strolling aimlessly around the grounds, kissing a pretty girl with inviting lips. She was everything he could no longer have, that he would never have.

Hermione Granger was friends and love and freedom and he hated her for it.

He kissed her with all the anger and frustration that had been building up for months. His lips bore down on her; his tongue delved into the warm chamber of her mouth, plundering the lingering traces of Butterbeer. He pushed and he grabbed. He shoved everything that had been building up in his body for months out into that kiss. Soon he'd have power and respect with no need for trivial matter. A hand wrapped itself in her mass of hair, tugging and pulling. Another held onto her ass, pulling her groin against his in time with his tongue. He would be triumphant over fools and Mudbloods like her and her friends. He shouldn't, he wouldn't, be jealous.

He grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist, settling against the amazing heat of her center. But for all the rage he poured out through his mouth, she simply held his shoulders gently and parted her lips slightly. He hated how good she was. But when she squeaked in pain as he squeezed her legs too hard, pinching her flesh, he froze. His hands flew from her and he scrambled away.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, and he knew he saw pity. And tears were falling down his cheeks. He spared a moment to consider if perhaps he'd been spending too much time with Myrtle, then turned to leave, ashamed. A light touch on his shoulder, her hand, stopped him. With all his might he wished he could just backhand her and walk away. It's what he should have done. But he let her step towards him, eyes brimming with confusion and empathy, and lift a hand to his cheek. The soft pad of her thumb smoothed away a tear and she didn't say anything. He thanked Merlin for the silence.

Hermione lifted herself to her toes and placed a delicate, ghost of a kiss on his lips.

He didn't need what she symbolized. He didn't want what she offered. She would learn her place and he'd forget that he ever wanted to hug her and cry against her neck.

Draco cupped her cheeks and lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was velvet and warmth. Lips brushing lips; tongues sliding softly in time together. The tears dried but he could feel himself shaking, his hands trembling against the sides of her face. Draco shook with the loss of all the fury and hurt as it emptied out of him. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, filling him with her scent and giving him comfort in her warm embrace.

Their mouths drifted apart, sighs on their lips. Silence and questions filled the air around them. Draco smoothed his hands down the soft length of her hair, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to call the aching, hollow feeling in his chest. Hermione's eyes drifted shut for a moment before she turned to run. He could only watch silently as her footsteps echoed down the hallway, sick with himself for reasons he no longer understood.

-----

Hermione sprinted with all her might down the corridor. She tripped and stumbled, drunk from Malfoy's kisses. Drunk from the feeling of him holding her so tightly, so carefully. Yet she persevered, trying to put as much distance between herself and what had happened.

What had happened? She let him kiss her. It was all him. His fault, all his fault. Once she was in his arms she was hardly in a position of turning him down. She should have, but she just didn't want to. Men (Ron) weren't exactly knocking her door down. The plan, as convoluted as it was in her mind, was to give her body over and preserve her soul in some nice corner of her mind, playing chess with her conscience. She'd satisfy her baser desires and move on. And if he kept quiet throughout the whole thing, all the better.

Then he'd cried. The evil, manipulative bastard had cried. Okay, so it wasn't exactly a waterfall, but still. And for once they weren't of the artificially produced variety. His already sunken eyes were rimmed in red, tears stained his hollowed cheeks. He'd just looked so sad, so pathetic. And she'd felt sorry for him. When she should have laughed in his face and taken some pictures for posterity, she'd wanted to comfort him.

What the hell was that about? It hadn't turned out so bad though. That kiss, in all its simplicity, was the best she'd ever had. There wasn't much to compare it to: a kiss done on a dare in third grade, a series of practically forced Viktor kisses, a very wet one from a drunken Seamus some point during fifth year, and most recently one with Cormac that involved him trying to eat her face. What a selection.

Somehow Harry caught sight of her when she reentered the party to grab her robe. An easy escape would have been too much to ask for. She searched for some sort of excuse, but her mind was sluggish and uncooperative. A large portion of her brain power was directed towards playing the Malfoy Kiss over and over and over again in her head.

"Oh I've just escaped – I mean, I've just left Cormac," Hermione said when her IQ made a triumphant return. "Under the mistletoe."

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely. Hermione knew she deserved the guilt trip, but wasn't about to correct her friend. Actually Harry, I was just snogging Draco Malfoy out in the hallway. Wouldn't you prefer to yell at me about that? She felt horrible enough about it as it was. So, when she saw Cormac making his way over she fled the scene.

Christmas came and went without any further troubles for Hermione. Malfoy dropped Arithmancy and rarely showed up to other classes. His seat in the Great Hall remained empty for the majority of the meals. Hermione thought herself safe. At least until they passed each other while she was making rounds one night.

She'd closed the doors to the Astronomy Tower stairwell after having checked it for late night rendezvous only to find Malfoy frozen in place not five feet away. Each stood there blinking stupidly for what seemed an eternity. She waited for the snide remark to surface, knowing it was coming.

It was never clear to her who made the first move, but suddenly they were pulled into a searing kiss. They were all hot mouths and questing hands and it just felt so good. Hermione was sick of feeling lonely, sick of being ignored and ridiculed. She was sick of everything that filled her days. So, she filled her nights with Malfoy.

It wasn't on purpose. She never went looking for him. He would find her while she was doing rounds. It didn't matter that she was horribly disappointed when he wouldn't appear some nights. They would come together in silence. They never said a word, they just fell into each others company. None of it was on purpose. Kissing, it was only kissing. Hermione never let it go farther than that. Though, sometimes his hands would sneak up between her legs or her fingers with dip into his pants. That was an accident, totally not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose. But for Hermione, the kissing was enough. It gave her someone to be close to, but never too close, and it was nice even if it was Malfoy.

Then she figured out who the girl with the scales was.

-----

It was hard to keep up with Snape as they ran full tilt across the grounds. All Malfoy could see was Dumbledore's lifeless body being blown away by a green light emanating from Snape's wand. The one wizard who had offered him a new path was gone. His world was becoming infinitely smaller as time progressed. His life had always been drawn out for him, but now it was abundantly clear out precise it actually was. It was stifling.

"Don't come near me," Hermione had said with her wand pointed directly at his heart. He'd laughed and rolled his eyes and stepped forward. The Death Eater's were due to make their arrival the next day and he was really in the mood for something pleasant. But Hermione had taken a step back, her face carved into a hard frown.

"Change of heart then, Granger?" Malfoy quipped, increasingly uneasy of the hatred glowing in her eyes.

"You're a scum-sucking maggot and I want nothing more to do with you," she replied icily.

"Hermione," he smiled amiably, shocking himself with the use of her first name. "What is this?"

"How dare you call me that!" She stood an angry step forward, her gaze burning into his eyes. "You awful, stupid little child! Go play with Voldemort and get out of my life."

"What are you talking about?" he felt himself take a wary step back.

"You know perfectly well, you ferret," she scowled. "Enjoy your little war games while you can, Malfoy. Because Voldemort will lose, you will lose." And she turned to leave.

"Wait," he couldn't stand how pathetic he sounded.

"Don't," she growled as she looked over her shoulder. "I hate you."

He'd let her walk away. He told himself he would get back at her. She would see just how powerful he was and would have to eat her words. She deserved being left to the Death Eaters. All he had to do was kill Dumbledore to complete his mission, to please the Dark Lord, and to show her exactly how wrong she was.

He'd failed spectacularly. He'd come so far and he'd failed. He was supposed to kill and he couldn't. It was his job and he hadn't wanted it. He didn't want anything to do with it. There was no walking away now, he was committed. This was his life for better or worse.

As he Apparrated away with Snape he realized that Hermione Granger had been right. Whether or not Voldemort was successful, she was right. He would fail. He would lose.

Draco Malfoy was going to die.

fin.

_This chapter contained two nearly direct quotes from HBP, pages 317 and 321 (American Edition)._


End file.
